


To Play the Game (and win your heart)

by Hookedonapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan - Freeform, Emma & Milah are con artists, F/M, Heartbreakers AU, Not a Milian fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-07-12 11:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hookedonapirate/pseuds/Hookedonapirate
Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire.





	1. Game Tutorial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.
> 
> This story deals with conning and manipulation, and mentions/includes children with various disabilities.
> 
> A huge shout out goes to Allison for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is. Thank you Eva for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process, and also Alma for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.
> 
> This is the first time I’ve written a complete MC before posting the first chapter, so it feels surreal to be presenting this to you knowing it’s finished. This story has been a struggle, especially when it came to constructing Emma’s character, and I’ve definitely had some ups and downs during the writing process, but I’m really proud of how this fic turned out and I really hope all of you enjoy it! 
> 
> There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday.
> 
> Art banner is by Rose. Check out more of her work on Tumblr @Distant-Rose

**_~Rule #1: Learn how to play the game like a pro. Learn how to play from the best of ‘em. Learn how to survive and learn how to win.~_ **

 

**July 9th, 2015—Boston, MS**

 

“Well, this is just perfect,” Milah sighs, leaning against the car with her prepaid cellular phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other, hazel eyes piercing down at the screen. Chocolatey brown locks cascade over her shoulders in thick waves, lightly affected by the gentle breeze slicing through the muggy, midsummer air. The brunette is wearing a pair of black denim shorts and a bright red t-shirt, showing off her flat, milky stomach as she waits for her sister.

 

Emma and Milah are the same age, twenty-four years old, but that’s where their physical similarities end. Emma has fair skin, luminous green eyes that sparkle through her thick-framed glasses, and golden sunshine hair pulled back into a high ponytail, the ribbon curls bouncing with every step as she makes her way to the car from the Stop ‘N Gas. Alternating between scratching off a lottery ticket with the edge of her car key and chewing on the Slim Jim tucked inside the palm of her hand, she’s wearing a white tank top and slim, dark blue leggings. “Damn… I guess it’s back to work tomorrow,” Emma grumbles through a mouthful of the dry meat snack, tearing the losing ticket in half and throwing it into the trashcan next to the gas pump. As she leans back on the yellow bug next to her sister, she swallows the food in her mouth and takes another bite of the Slim Jim.

 

“Well that's too bad.” Milah tucks the phone in her pocket and takes a long drag of her cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke out of her mouth and letting it drift into Emma's direction.

 

“Come ooo- _onn_!” Attempting to wave the smoke out of her face, Emma starts coughing as she breathes some of it in. “How many times do I have to tell you that smoking is bad for you?”

 

“And Slim Jims aren't? You're eating processed beef that's made up of mechanically separated chicken, and is loaded with salt and preservatives,” Milah points out scornfully.

 

Emma cringes and immediately stops chewing, feeling the urge to vomit. “You mean beef, right?” she mumbles with her mouth full.

 

“Nope. The meat base is made of chicken,” Milah replies pretentiously, a sly grin crossing her lips. “Sounds appetizing, doesn't it?”

 

Emma’s features twist in disgust, she spits the chewed-up remains into the trash can and throws away what’s left in the wrapper with a snide retort. “At least I can't be afflicted with lung disease from eating Slim Jims. I'd rather be clogging up my arteries than breathing through a ventilator for the rest of my life. Besides, it's hazardous to smoke near a gas pump.” Emma grabs the cigarette from between her sister’s fingers and throws it on the ground before crushing it with the sole of her sandal.

 

Milah becomes bug-eyed at the gesture. “What the hell, Em?! That was my last cigarette!”

 

Emma sighs and rolls her eyes. “So buy another pack.”

 

The brunette’s eyebrows are furrowed together as she scolds Emma, arms flailing in the air. “Yeah, I would, except, now we might have to decide on whether to spend our money on food or rent, so how am I going to buy a pack of cigarettes?!”

 

Emma eyes her sister warily, her brows crinkling in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

 

Milah’s lashes are pressed together as she squints, flashing Emma her famous ‘ _are you seriously kidding me right now?’_ mien. “Well in case you forgot, sis, we received an eviction notice this morning, and we had to replace the engine of this old piece of crap!” Milah spats resentfully, gesturing towards Emma’s prized yellow bug to convey her point.

 

“Hey, my car is not a piece of crap,” Emma argues defensively. She opens the driver's door, hearing the hinges squeak as Milah makes her way to the passenger’s side.

 

“I just checked my bank account, and unless you have money I don't know about, or plan on seducing the landlord to get out of paying rent, then we’re completely screwed.”

 

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t spent seventy-five dollars on the sandals you just _had_ to have, then we’d have more money.” Emma is all for buying new shoes, but not if it meant they have to live on the streets because of it.

 

Milah glowers at her. “They were half off. Besides, you know what they say—give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world. And we’re going to need a lot more than seventy-five dollars to catch up on rent. We're going to need some kind of miracle.”

 

“Well, I asked for more hours at the bar, and you’ve picked up more too,” Emma reminds her.

 

Milah shakes her head as they get in the car. “Still, we’re barely getting by. That engine set us way back,” she points out in frustration, buckling her seatbelt. “We need to make some money quick.”

 

Emma nods in agreement, knowing her sister’s correct. “If only one of us could win the lottery or marry a rich man. I really don't want to spend the rest of my life eating ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner,” Emma mutters, firing up the engine as she fastens her seatbelt. Lifting her eyes, she catches Milah’s big hazel ones gleaming at her, a slow, snide smile crawling across her lips. The hairline on Emma’s forehead rises as she arches a brow at her sister. “What?”

 

“That’s a brilliant idea, Em.”

 

Waving her head doubtfully, Emma looks ahead as she shifts the gear in drive and starts pulling away from the gas pump. “Eating ramen noodles for every meal? Not really. They're incredibly high in sodium, calories and saturated fat. And weren't you just cutting me down for munching on Slim Jims?”

 

“Not that. I'm talking about marrying a rich man.”

 

Emma snorts as she turns out of the parking lot, not believing what she just heard slip past Milah's lips. “That would kind of be difficult to do, considering neither one of us is even dating one.”

 

Milah shifts in her seat anxiously, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Em, do you remember about two years ago… when we went to visit Mal and Lily for Christmas?”

 

Emma thinks about that for a moment, unsure of what Milah is getting at. Mal had taken them in for a short while, after their adoptive mother died when they were seventeen years old. Milah and Emma aren't sisters by blood but they grew up in the foster system together and became inseparable when they were both adopted by a nice woman in Indiana. They had only been out of the system for a year when Ingrid was in a fatal car accident.

 

Mal is the mother of Lily Page, who was Milah’s and Emma's classmate and friend, and took them in while they finished high school. When the sisters moved out, they got an apartment together in Boston. Milah had just turned twenty-two when they went back to visit Mal and Lily for the holidays. “Yeah, I remember. She taught us how to play poker. So?”

 

“She did, but do you also remember how Mal spoke to us about _the con_ and how we weren't supposed to tell anyone about it?”

 

“The con?” Emma tries to recall, but really has no clue what Milah’s talking about.

 

“Yeah. Mal told us how Lily's father left when he found out she was pregnant, so after that, she gave up on love. Said it was weakness, and only married her husbands for their money. When Lily turned twenty-one, she got her mother’s husband at that time to cheat on her. Then Mal divorced him and got a huge settlement out of it. The two of them took the money, and moved on to the next poor loser who fell into their trap. And they always used fake names so they'd never get caught.”

 

“Yeah, okay I remember now.” Emma regards her sister with a cautious eye. “What's your point?”

 

“Don't you see, Em? We could do the same. We could have Mal show us the con, and how to pull it off successfully.”

 

Shaking her head, Emma quickly declines while biting back a laugh. “I am _not_ doing that.”

 

Milah shifts in her seat, her whole body facing Emma. “Just think—we’ll never have to be broke again. We can get a few good marks, take their money and move to Hawaii and buy our own bar on the beach or something. Come on, what do you say, Em? Let's do something _bold_ . Something _crazy_.”

 

“We do plenty of bold and crazy things,” Emma counters with a laugh.

 

“Name one.”

 

“What about the time we went skinny dipping in the sea with our former bosses?”

 

Milah rolls her eyes. “You just proved my point. If that's the craziest thing we’ve ever done, I think it’s time we change that.”

 

Emma stares at the road ahead of her, gnawing on her bottom lip. “But we’re not like Mal and Lily. What if we end up falling in love with one of the marks? I mean, do you really think we can pull this off?”

 

“Sure, why not? Neither of us have ever been good at commitments anyways. _But,_ we've been good at one-night stands and sex with no strings.”

 

Emma has to admit, Milah’s correct on all counts, yet she still feels the urge to argue her reasons. “Well, yes, but those were only physical involvements and we always go to the guy’s place, making a dash before morning. Now you're talking about one of us going on romantic dates and getting a man to fall head over heels in love and make an actual commitment before ripping his heart in two?”

 

“So? I can totally do that. I'll be the primary and you can get them to have an affair; that way you won't have to worry about the relationship part. All you have to do is look good, dress sexy and be your charming self, like when you pick up a guy at the bar. Only he’ll be married and rich instead of single and broke… and he’ll be my husband.”

 

_This is completely insane._

 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Emma can't believe she is actually considering this plan. It seems so wrong to her on many, many levels. “I don't know…”

 

Milah pulls one of Emma's hands from the steering wheel, encases it between her own and looks at her sister with pleading eyes, her left wrist revealing the tattoo of a raven's wings spread across the inside.

 

“Please? Just consider it, that's all I'm asking.”

 

Emma also has a tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, only it’s the wings of a white swan. They both got the tattoos using their fake i.d. cards, just after getting adopted by Ingrid at age sixteen. The wings symbolize their freedom from escaping the various foster homes, and they would never take it for granted. And yet, this little scheme they are contemplating would certainly take that freedom away if they ever got caught and landed in prison.

 

Emma turns her head, briefly glancing at her sister, who is making a moue with her lips. “You're insane,” she titters, waving her head in bewilderment.

 

Milah grins at her cheekily. “And you love me for it.”

 

### $*$*$

 

**May 5th, 2018—the outskirts of Storybrooke, ME**

 

Emma’s long blonde locks whip through the air, relieved to be free from the confinement of the red-haired wig as she tilts her head to the side and smiles at her sister, Milah. They’re just leaving the outskirts of Maine in their brand new flashy red Corvette Convertible with the top down, wearing designer sunglasses and silk dresses with thousand-dollar Giuseppe Zanotti shoes. And they have eighty thousand dollars to their name which will pay for their living expenses while they sink their claws into their next new mark.

 

After Mal’s training, they'd started out small, tricking strangers at grocery stores by convincing them they’d forgotten their purses, or that their cupboards were bare and they needed to feed their starving children when they were using maxed-out cards so they’d be declined. The restaurant pranks were their most popular techniques; they’d plant a strand of hair or piece of glass in their food, or they’d discolor the chicken with red food dye to make it look raw in the middle and receive a free meal out of the charade. Or they’d sit at the bar wearing their sexiest dresses, luring men into buying them all the cocktails they could possibly stand before fleeing to the cab the men paid for when the sisters became too drunk to drive, leaving the poor guys all hot and bothered with no money in their pockets.

 

The more cons they played out, the easier it became. Emma was always wary about it and her conscience often got in the way, but she slowly came around because she didn't want to let her sister down. Milah, however, was a natural. She had no problem lying and flirting with strange men to get her way, and always took the lead whenever they were working as a team. Soon enough, it was on to the big leagues.

 

Their first real mark was a computer geek from MIT who worked at Google, was a momma’s boy, and had never cooked a meal in his whole goddamn life. The millionaire may have been smart, but luckily he wasn't clever enough to let his brain do all the thinking or let his mother talk some sense into him. Either that, or he was just that desperate when a gorgeous brunette, who was way out of his league, showed interest in him. They were married three months later when Emma kissed him so Milah could walk in and catch them. Emma cried that night for ruining the man’s life. Several more cons and broken hearts later, the consequences of their actions gradually had less of an impact on her due to Milah’s constant encouragement and incessant reminders that it’s better than sleeping on the cold, hard floor in a crowded homeless shelter or a cardboard box on the streets.

 

“So how was the wedding?”

 

Milah shrugs, a half-hearted smile curving her lips. “It was fine.”

 

Even through the dark shades, Emma can tell something is wrong with her sister. She can always read her like a book. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?”

 

“I don't know, but I know when something's bothering you. We’re sisters remember?”

 

Milah's smile grows as she slowly turns up the radio. “Of course, and you're also my best friend, Em,” she adds, speaking over the music as she leans over and kisses Emma's cheek. “It's just exhausting getting married and going through a divorce, that's all. And I kinda miss my blonde wig,” she says with a small laugh before briefly glancing down and admiring her feet. “But that's okay. Give a girl the right pair of shoes…”

 

“And she can conquer the world,” Emma finishes enthusiastically.

 

“I promise, sis… everything… is… fantastic.”

 

The song _Homewrecker_ by Marina and the Diamonds is playing as the music envelopes their ears. Milah throws her arms up in the air and Emma laughs, raising one hand while the other is still on the wheel. She grabs her sister's hand and they start singing loudly with the words of the song. Emma can't wait to get to their next destination. “Palm Beach, Florida, here we come!” Emma shouts at the top of her lungs.

 

“Whoohoooooo!” Milah utters in excitement, both of the them floating on a cloud; nothing in the word could possibly bring them down.

 

### $*$*$

 

**Approximately two days and 1,529 miles later—Palm Beach, FL**

 

“What about him?”

 

Emma dismisses the question with a soft shake of her head, grimacing at the idea of having to kiss the old man leaving his huge mansion—he looks as though he’s on the brink of death. She's already had her fill of the previous man with a cane—Milah’s latest ex-husband. “I don't think so,” Emma grumbles, proceeding to cruise through the wealthy neighborhood. The avenue is stretching wide and flat in front of them, a perfectly-aligned row of palm trees on either side as the sunlight scatters through the gaps. They’ve been on the road for twenty-four hours over the span of two days, and regretted the decision of not traveling by plane (Emma is afraid of flying), so it’s a relief to finally reach their destination. And as tired as they are, they’re bound and determined to find their next mark.

 

Emma’s eyes are spanning over the nearby houses when she spots a modestly attractive man stepping out of his Mercedes Benz. He appears to be in his mid-thirties, has curly brown hair and is wearing an Armani suit. Perhaps a CEO of a large corporation? “What about him? He's kind of cute.” Just as Emma asks, another man, this one with dark hair who is equally as attractive and young, steps out of the house greeting the other with a hug. “Brothers maybe? That could be fun.”

 

Emma receives an eye roll as she stops at a red light.

 

“We don't play more than one guy at a time, I can only marry one, Em. And competition creates complications, especially between brothers.”

 

Despite her words, Emma continues to observe them as Milah looks ahead, but to the blonde’s dismay, the two men start kissing—making out to be more precise. “Ummm… I take that back… not brothers… and you're definitely not their type.”

 

“What do you mean I'm not their type?” Milah asks, clearly offended as she tilts her head to see what Emma is looking at. “Oh… I don't do gay guys either.”

 

“Maybe they're bi? You could have a ménage à trois,” Emma teases with a laugh as the light turns green and she gently steps on the gas.

 

“No thanks,” Milah replies, her words laced with distaste. “Get real, Em. Maybe you're into that, but I'm not.”

 

Emma shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

 

Half an hour later, they arrive at the condo they're staying in for the next two or three months, depending on how long it takes Milah to get the next man to marry her. The last one took two, but that was a new record for her. And he was only worth six hundred thousand. His last name was Gold, but he sure as hell wasn't made of it.

 

They enter their room, blown away by the accommodations as they take a tour of the place. The beachfront apartment contains a large living space with a tan leather sectional, a matching loveseat and a large flat screen TV in the lounge area. There’s a separate laundry room in the apartment, and the kitchen is equipped with granite countertops and all of the stainless steel appliances they could possibly need.

 

The glass patio doors afford a spectacular view of the ocean, and opens to a balcony scattered with outdoor dining furniture and a sunbed.

 

In each of the two bedrooms, there’s a full patio window and a four-poster queen size bed adorned with a mountain of frilly pillows and silk drapes surrounding the bed. The en-suite bathroom that joins the two bedrooms contains a jacuzzi tub and shower encased in glass doors.

 

Emma and Milah are squealing in delight, completely in awe as they soak everything in. Between all of the crowded foster homes and the studio apartments they lived in which were ran by slumlords, this is by far the nicest place they've ever stayed in.

 

After getting settled and unpacking some of their things, Milah decides to test out the bathtub while Emma goes for a walk. It’s still early in the evening and she’s utterly exhausted, but she craves some time on the beach before retiring to her bed. The ocean always calms her.

### $*$*$

 

_Hook Jones is in jeopardy of losing his world number one ranking this week at the Players Championship in Ponte Verde, Florida. According to the scenarios presented by Twitter user @VC606, there are four players who could overtake Jones this week.–thebiglead.com_

 

The sun is cresting the horizon, leaving an array of colors across the sky as Killian moors his vessel to the port. He normally likes to start the mornings on his yacht whenever he can catch a break, but watching the sunset is just as calming. It allows him to reflect and plan his game before the tour. Some days are a zoo, with the cameras and crowds following him around on the green; the feeling of being closed in is the worst part about being a golfer. Being on the sea is his escape.

 

It’s really quite ironic because ever since he was a child, he's been surrounded by people, even after he lost his family. He’s traveled around the world, and when he’s in Palm Beach he spends a lot of time with the children, who are his biggest fans. As much as he enjoys being around them, he’s always craving to have someone with him while he’s on the tour—someone by his side… someone along for the ride.

 

With his vessel securely anchored in place, Killian makes his way from the marina and passes a few patrons, offering a courteous smile and a small wave. Most of them are familiar to him, and some are obviously here on vacation.

 

Normally, tourists wear shorts when it’s sixty-eight degrees and end up looking like lobsters after spending four hours in the sun. Locals, on the other hand, wear winter jackets when it’s a touch below seventy degrees and always have deep brown tans. Killian can always distinguish a local from a tourist, not only by the hue of their tan, or lack thereof, and the way they dress, but also by the excitement buzzing in their eyes. Most of them spend their days snapping photos, drinking in the view and thinking of ways to move here, while the residents of Palm Beach spend their lives trying to find a way out.

 

Nearing the beach, Killian feels the cool breeze touching his skin and blowing through his hair. This is one of cooler evenings in May, although he’s been accustomed to much more frigid temperatures from all of his traveling.

 

His mind is frazzled with thoughts of the new foundation he had spent many years dreaming up and planning, the charity event to kick it off and the Players championship, where he is hoping to maintain his number one ranking. With everything going on, he has to be mentally prepared for the game, but he’s not worried. He’s always hungry for more wins, no matter how many he already has in the bag. Golf is his true love, and the game is all about focus and preparation.

 

However, nothing could've prepared him for the vision currently demanding all of his focus when his eyes fall upon a beautiful woman. Well, an _angel_ to be more precise, with skin fair and pure, golden hair shimmering, even in the dim light of the evening air.

 

 _Bloody hell_ , she is breathtaking.

 

She’s walking barefoot along the beach, wearing a white layered mini skirt, a beige sweater and a wide-brimmed sun hat, her long golden hair flowing in soft waves. Her gorgeous legs go on for days, she has high cheekbones and glossy pink lips, and her emerald green eyes are lit up like a firefly in the night. Her creamy skin looks like porcelain, and a calm expression is settled over the beautiful features of her face as she gazes across the ocean.

 

She is definitely not from around here. Even if not for all of the evident signs, he would remember seeing a lass like her.

 

Killian watches from the shadows of the pier, trying not to be seen. There’s an aura about her that pulls him in like waves of the sea. Before he knows it, she is walking away, leaving him dizzy and discombobulated as he struggles to remember what he was doing. He has to shake his head and collect his bearings, heading for home in his blue Mustang, but how in the bloody hell is he supposed to forget a woman like her?


	2. Finding the Perfect Opponent

**_~Rule #2: Don’t play against a flawless opponent. Size them up and know just who you're dealing with. Make sure he's ready to handle anything, make sure he's worthy, but if he’s too perfect, too handsome, too young or too smart, then chances are you will lose. If you can't choose the sucker, then you will end up being the sucker. ~_ **

 

The following day, Emma and Milah take full advantage of their time here, and have breakfast delivered to them via room service, which they enjoy on the balcony under the sun. Afterwards, they change into their bikinis, grabbing their beach necessities and head for the sandy beach, finding a suitable spot to perch.

 

Once they’re anchored in their lounge chairs and slathered in suntan lotion, Emma begins scouring the beach for single, male patrons. However, the building they are staying in mostly hosts attractive, young couples, with the exception of the occasional businessmen buried in the electronic devices on their laps.

 

“Why don't we just wait to do our research before we start picking out potential candidates?” Milah suggests, putting away the bottle of lotion and laying back into a comfortable position. “I’ve been divorced for approximately seventy-two hours and I’d like to relax for a minute before we start scouting out our next target.”

 

Emma sighs, unwilling to give it a rest. They both had acquired plenty of that the day before, spending time at the spa and getting a good night's sleep. She had slipped into her silk pajamas and her warm, comfortable bed last night, looking forward to their next con. She blames Milah, though. She's the one who'd talked her into this years ago. To top it off, they had Mal and Lily as role models. Emma actually regrets the day she signed up for this. It’s quite like heroin; once they began conning and became good at it, they found it difficult to quit.

 

Emma lifts her sunglasses to gaze across the ocean. The sun is bright and beaming down as a gentle breeze blows through her hair, the sound of the waves gently slapping at the shore and the scent of the ocean permeating her senses.

 

Seeing the various boats gliding through the water, Emma's eyes settle upon one in particular—a rather large yacht. Grabbing the binoculars from her bag, she looks through them, seeing a man walking out on the deck. Emma draws in a sharp gasp of air, taking in the fantastic view before her.

 

_Jesus. This guy is gorgeous._

 

Unruly black hair blowing in the wind, bright blue eyes, and dark scruff on his chin and cheeks. He’s shirtless, only wearing a pair of trunks that hang low at his hips, and Emma takes full advantage of the view, slowly spanning his form through the binoculars.

 

She's guessing he's in his late twenties or early thirties. His body is tanned and sculpted like some sort of Greek God, his chest is sprinkled with soft-looking hair that she itches to run her fingers through and there’s a happy trail that leads her eyes over his toned stomach and abs.

 

“Milah, you have to check this guy out. He has a yacht; he's gotta be loaded. Plus he's hot, so there's that,” Emma adds with a sly smirk. A heavy sigh is heard as Milah sits up, her eyes following Emma's as she reaches out a hand.

 

“Let me see those.”

 

Emma transfers her sister the binoculars and Milah raises them to her eyes, peering through them. Emma swears she can hear her sister gasp, “Holy shit.”

 

“So you agree, he's our next mark?” Emma smiles wickedly, imagining how much fun it would be to play with her potential toy—how fun it would be to make him throw his sacred marital vows out the window to have his way with her. Even if the vows wouldn't actually be sacred, considering the bride would be using a fake name and wouldn't actually be in love with him.

 

Milah lowers the binoculars, returning them to Emma before laying back down in her lounge chair. “Absolutely not.”

 

Emma's face falls flat, a mixture of disappointment and bewilderment flaring in her eyes. “And why not?”

 

“For one, we don't even know how much he's worth. That boat may not even be his. We haven't even looked at our other options yet. And lastly, he's way too young and handsome,” she says flatly.

 

“And why not someone young and handsome this time?”

 

“Because, Em, handsome is dangerous,” Milah points out, her words just as poised as her sunbathed figure, “you know that.”

 

Emma lifts the binoculars again, gazing at the beautiful man on the yacht. He’s staring out into the vast ocean with an abandoned look in his eyes. _It must be lonely for one single man to be on such a large boat by himself,_ she thinks to herself. Unless he’s hoarding a bunch of women underneath the deck, or a wife.

 

Desperately hoping he’s not already married, she tears her view away from him to span the entirety of the yacht. She grows more curious, seeing the elaborate lettering that spells out, _Jolly Roger_ , and wonders why he’d chosen that name; maybe the man is a huge fan of pirates?

 

Emma lowers her binoculars, tucking them inside her bag before finally laying back in her chair. Arms resting at her sides, she shifts into a comfortable position and closes her eyes, making a mental note to remember the name of the boat for when they gather intel on their potential marks.

 

###  $*$*$

 

“Alright, so this guy, Dr. Victor Whale specializes in family medicine.” Milah turns her MacBook around, showing Emma the photo on the screen as they sit at a booth in Camelot, a bar not far from their apartment. “He has a net worth of five million. He's never been married. No children. And he’s forty years old and not bad to look at. You said you wanted someone younger and cute, so this guy’s perfect.”

 

Emma shrugs, her chin resting in the palm of her hand as she stirs her almost-empty chocolate martini. The doctor is a little cute, she will admit, but also kind of creepy looking. Besides, she can't stop thinking about the guy with the yacht, which he named the Jolly Roger, she remembers, mentally patting herself on the back for the small success.

 

“Okay, what's wrong, sis?” Milah inquires, her words laced with worry as she pushes the laptop aside.

 

“Nothing,” Emma sighs wearily. “Did you find anything about the pirate?”

 

A puzzled expression crosses Milah’s face. “The what?”

 

“The handsome guy with the boat,” Emma clarifies. It’s been a few days since they saw him at the beach, but the man isn't easily forgettable.

 

Milah shakes her head and raises the glass to her lips. “I already told you, he’s too dangerous,” she replies before taking a small sip of her strawberry daiquiri.

 

“Why?” Emma whines, not understanding what Milah’s problem is with him.

 

“Because, handsome leads to feelings, feelings lead to love and love leads to getting knocked up and ditched in a Walmart parking lot. Haven't you learned anything from Mal?”

 

“I'm pretty sure you got the part about getting knocked up and abandoned at Walmart from a movie, not from one of Aunt Mal’s fucked up stories… surprisingly enough,” Emma teases, rolling her eyes. “How can you be so sure one of us will develop feelings for him? The guy could be a complete ass for all we know. Most attractive men are. In my opinion, the cockier the better.”

 

“Emma, I'm sorry, but you're not the one who has to marry him, I am. Therefore, I have the final say. And I’m telling you it's too risky,” Milah states firmly before returning her attention to the computer and pulling it in front of her.

 

Emma huffs in frustration and stands up, hastily grabbing her empty glass. “I need another drink.” Spinning around, she marches up to the bar counter, setting her glass on the surface. “I'll take another chocolate martini.”

 

“Coming right up,” the bartender assures with a wink.

 

Emma sighs, leaning her elbows on the countertop and resting her face in her hands.

 

In all honesty, she’s not sure she can do this anymore. Maybe it’s because she knows Milah’s going to get her way, and she knows their next mark is going to be some old, wrinkly guy who can barely walk. The only thing Emma really reaps from conning wealthy men with her relentless partner in crime is a cut of the divorce money; there is an empty pit in her stomach that tells her it’s not enough… and not just the monetary value.

 

This trip is supposed to be fun, full of possibilities and an endless amount of relaxation, beaches and sun. In reality, three months of watching Milah date a rich guy and waiting for her to get married before Emma has to swoop in and seduce a guy she isn't even remotely interested in is _not_ fun.

 

Sometimes she has to take things further than a kiss, depending on the situation and timing. If Milah’s on her way home, or wherever the affair is staged, Emma tries to stall as long as possible, but sometimes the men grow impatient, and she doesn't want to ruin the whole thing by kissing too long when the guy clearly wants more.

 

Waiting for the drink to be made, Emma lifts her eyes to the television hanging behind the bar, and sees the ESPN channel showing the PGA golf tournament which is now taking place in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Emma actually enjoys playing golf. Milah’s ex-husband had a son who Emma had been obligated to entertain since she’d worked for Gold, so they’d spent most of their time together playing golf. Emma hadn't cared much for the guy, but when her life revolves around waiting for her sister to tie the knot, Emma gets very bored and has to occupy her time somehow.

 

Emma's eyes are fixated on the screen, seeing it's the second round of the Players Championship. She doesn't really ever watch the game on television, but it’s better than going back to the table and arguing with her sister about who their next mark will be. And she knows the basic concepts of golf—the person with the lowest score wins, a par is the average number of strokes at a particular hole, a birdie is one stroke under par and a bogey is one stroke over par—so she can follow along and understand what the commentators are speaking about.

 

As the sports reporter spouts off the highlights of the impressive round from one of the star players, a clip appears on the screen of the golfer with a perfect swing, obliterating the ball off the tee.

 

Emma gapes at the television, completely perplexed as she realizes who it is. When she’d seen him on the yacht, she had never pictured him stepping out of a sports magazine, more like a supermodel's wet dream. Emma has to blink a couple of times to make sure it's actually him. But, _oh yes,_ it definitely is.

 

He’s fully clothed this time, wearing a red polo shirt, black slacks and a baseball cap on his head showing Adidas sponsors him, but Emma would recognize the man anywhere. The name Killian “ _Hook” Jones_ flashes at the bottom of the screen as the camera cuts to a blonde journalist with a microphone and the man himself, her Australian intonation carrying through the dull chatter of the bar.

 

“The last few weeks have been incredible for you, on and off the golf course. How are you able to keep your mind clear and play the way you've played the last two days?”

 

When Hook answers, his cheeks tinged with pink as he scratches behind his ear, Emma almost melts at the sound of the British brogue he speaks with.

 

“Well mostly I've been focused on the game, even when I'm not playing, but this week I've spent some time with the children, so that really helped a lot, and also being out on the ocean gets me away from the green. It helps me relax and separate myself from everything else that's going on.”

 

Disappointment pulls at her gut when she hears him talking about his children, but perhaps they can still make it work. Gold’s son was thirty years old and he’d been none the wiser. Emma just prays he's not already married; he hadn't mentioned a wife or girlfriend, so perhaps he shares custody of the kids. She listens keenly, hoping to pick up on any more clues, meanwhile getting lost in his eyes and every answer he comes back with, when the bartender’s words pull her attention from the television.

 

“Chocolate martini for the beautiful lady. Topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, just the way you like.”

 

“Do you know who that is?” she asks, ignoring the drink he’s passing to her.

 

“Hook? Of course, doesn't everybody?”

 

The scowl she flashes him indicates she does not.

 

“He's only the best player on the PGA tour. They call him Hook because he has a flawless left hook shot that's won him many championships,” the bartender boasts proudly.

 

“Left hook?”

 

“Yeah, he’s a lefty, so when he hits the ball, it curves from left to right, but it's intentional, and he does it perfectly. For most players, it's the result of a mishit,” the bartender explains, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “You play at all?”

 

“Not much anymore. I've just seen him around,” she replies casually. “Does he live here in Palm Beach permanently or just visiting for the tour?”

 

“He’s one of the locals. I'm surprised you've never heard of him. They say he's the British version of Tiger Woods—you know, minus the philandering and trouble with the law.”

 

“Really?” She has to steady herself to keep her fingers from shaking as she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her mouth opens to ask another question, her tone as breezy as she can manage. “So, he's like a celebrity?”

 

“Oh, absolutely. Everyone loves him. He even started a foundation for disabled children.”

 

Emma arches a brow; to say she's surprised would be an understatement. She wonders if maybe the children Hook had referred to were the disabled children. “So, is that what he meant when he spoke of spending time with the children?”

 

The bartender nods. “Sure is. He doesn’t have any of his own. It’s hard to have children when you’re on tour all the time, never settling down. It’s a shame, really. The guy could easily have any woman he wants and yet he's never been married.”

 

Emma sighs in relief, but at the same time her heart is clenching in her chest. On one hand, her interest is highly piqued, even more so now that she knows he’s not married and doesn’t have children, and she wants to strangle her sister until she agrees to marry Hook, but on the other hand, she feels a twinge of guilt for wanting to take money from a man who helps disabled children. “So, he’s _never_ been married?” she asks, unable to believe a woman has never wanted to tie the knot with a man like him.

 

“Never. He's dated a few women here and there, but they turned out to be gold diggers, only after his money.”

 

“So, he’s really worth that much?” she inquires, attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible.

 

The bartender snickers in amusement. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

 

Emma shakes her head as she takes out her purse. “No, I just drove in last week.”

 

“Well, Hook’s only worth seven hundred million dollars,” he replies, his words thick with sarcasm as he wipes down the bar.

 

Emma’s eyes almost pop out of her head, her mouth turning dry as it hangs open. “Seven hundred million?”

 

“Like I said, the man’s really good at what he does. Plus he inherited a large amount of money from a dead rich uncle.”

 

Her mind is exploding with all the possibilities; she doesn't even know what she would do with that kind of money. Somehow pulling herself together, she retrieves some cash from her purse, attempting to pay for the drink, but the bartender puts out his hand to stop her.

 

“No need. The drink’s on the house.” He winks at her again, a flirty smirk curving his lips as he throws the rag over his shoulder and presses the palm of his hands into the edge of the counter, speaking in a husky tone. “I get out in about an hour if you want to talk some more about golf.”

 

Leaning over the counter to grab her drink, she forces out a giggle and graces the bartender with a smile, but inwardly, she’s cringing at his proposal. The guy is cute, with bleach blonde hair and tanned skin like a surfer, but not her type. He looks like he’s barely twenty. _No,_ he is more like a boy, and she is only into men. Men like Hook, to be more specific; someone who has strong arms and facial hair, and someone who is actually skilled with his hands for more useful or pleasurable things.

 

Her eyes are locked with his as she takes the martini glass, dips her finger in the whipped cream and scoops some on her fingertip.

 

His mouth is hanging open as he stands there watching, practically drooling over the counter as she slides her finger between her lips to suck off the white, creamy sweetness in a slow, seductive manner.

 

Catching the guy intensely eyeing her lips as her tongue sweeps off the cream, she leans closer to whisper in his ear, her tone and demeanor dark and alluring, “In your dreams.”

 

She pulls away, flashing him one last grin before turning around and heading back to her seat across the table from her sister. Slipping into the booth, she sets her drink down, excitement dancing in her eyes as the brunette’s face is still buried in her laptop.

 

“Milah, did you hear that?”

 

“You mean that guy shamelessly hitting on you?” Milah asks spitefully as she rolls her eyes, which are still locked on the screen. “I already knew guys swooned over you; no need to rub it in.”

 

“What are you talking about? Guys swoon over you all the time,” Emma reminds her. “I bet if you went over there right now, the bartender would buy you a drink, too.”

 

“I'm supposed to be the commitment type, remember? Not letting guys drool all over me for sport.”

 

Offended, Emma glares at her, but Milah never looks up from the computer. “Anyways… what I meant was, did you hear the part about Captain Hook being worth seven hundred million?”

 

Milah’s eyes are blown wide as she finally averts her attention from her MacBook. “Are you kidding me?” She slides the computer over to her sister. “Show me.”

 

Emma complies and starts typing his name in the Google search bar, immediately pulling up his bio on Wikipedia. She turns the computer around to show the brunette. “See? He's a professional golfer who inherited a bunch of money from a deceased uncle. You can't tell me you're not interested.”

 

“Killian Jones, born on January 26th 1988, better known as Hook, is a British professional golfer who plays most of his golf on the PGA Tour, while keeping his membership on the European Tour. He is the current World Number One in the Official World Golf Ranking, having reached that position with his win at the 2017 Genesis Open in February 2017. As of March 19th, 2018, he has been the number one ranked golfer for sixty consecutive weeks, which is the sixth longest streak in PGA Tour history.”

 

Milah reads about his progression and some of his accomplishments before moving on to his personal life. “Hook was born in Brighton, England and moved to London when he was three. He and his brothers, Liam and Dylan, were raised by a great uncle who owned the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club. Hook started playing golf at the age of five.” She continues on to read about his childhood, how his mother died giving birth to the youngest, who was born with Autism, how Hook’s father abandoned his sons in the middle of the night and that the eldest brother died while serving in the Royal Navy.

 

Emma’s heart is torn apart from hearing about all of the loved ones he’s lost.

 

“Hook inherited his uncle's entire estate and used a good chunk of it to start a charity for disabled children. He is also a golf coach and holds sessions, giving them the opportunity to learn and play golf... that's so sweet,” the brunette comments, her eyes melting a little at that.

 

“Yes, but he probably does all that for publicity,” Emma reasons. The guy just seems too good to be true. “For all we know, he’s a self-centered asshole?”

 

“Maybe, but we can't be certain of that. Some celebrities are actually genuinely kind.”

 

“Either way, we’re talking about seven hundred million,” Emma reminds her, keeping them both focused on the goal. She’s not about to let his tragic backstory or the possibility that he might actually be a decent guy get in their way, no matter how much it pains her.

 

“No wife to speak of and no family to get suspicious of our motives,” Milah notes, studying the page a bit longer before lifting her eyes again, her face surprisingly full of doubt. “I don't know, Em. A guy that loaded will see us coming from miles away. He probably has ironclad prenups.”

 

“He's never married before, but I've heard that a lot of celebrities have an infidelity clause in their prenups nowadays to keep their spouses faithful. If there is an extramarital affair, the spouse who's been cheated on would receive a financial reward from the other spouse. And even if you ask for a quarter of his worth, and we pull this off successfully, it could be our last con. We can move to Hawaii like we always talk about.”

 

“That would be amazing, Em, but won't the infidelity clause give him a really good incentive _not_ to cheat?”

 

Emma frowns. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mi? Because it really sounds like you are,” she says, offended by the implications. When it comes to getting the opposite sex to do whatever she wants them to do, she never fails. And she isn't about to start now.

 

“No, I'm just saying we’re going to have to bring our A game for this to work. It's not going to be easy. We've never played a guy this wealthy and attractive before,” Milah points out, pursing her lips in contemplation.

 

Emma eyes her suspiciously.

 

“What?”

 

“This isn't about us not being able to pull this off without Hook suspecting anything, is it? We both know we can do this. We’ve done this many times.”

 

Milah shakes her head. “I'm not doubting our abilities, Em, but—”

 

“But… you're worried you're going to fall for the guy aren’t you? You're worried that you're not going to be able to go through with it?”

 

Milah's eyes widen, obviously offended by the accusations. “Of course not.”

 

“You said it yourself, handsome leads to feelings, and what if this guy really isn't an ass? I mean he's a well-liked celebrity,” Emma points out. “You've gone soft. That's why you were so upset after you divorced Gold. You developed feelings for him.”

 

“That's nonsense! I do not have feelings for him!” Milah counters adamantly. “I told you, it was just exhausting.”

 

Emma sighs. She knows Milah is lying, but maybe it’s best not to argue with her. “Fine, you're right. It must be exhausting going through the motions—going on dates and being proposed to, having a nice wedding, breaking the guy's heart and taking his money,” she mutters sarcastically as Milah looks away, trying to avoid her gaze, “so, let me take this.”

 

The brunette’s eyes snap to Emma’s, widening in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

Emma smiles eagerly and leans her elbows on the table, crossing her arms and closing the distance between them to keep out prying ears. “I mean, let me be the primary. I'll marry Hook, and you can get him to have an affair.”

 

Milah scoffs, amusement besetting her features. “You seriously want to be the primary?”

 

“Why not? That way you can take a break for a while. Think about it—the man's a professional golfer and you hate the sport. As his girlfriend and potential wife, you'd have to support him and go to the tournaments with him and listen while he talks about his games. I can do that with no problem. But I know you would be miserable. Wouldn't you rather be free to do what you want—go shopping and live the single life for a while? Maybe even start drawing again?” Emma adds, watching and scrutinizing her sister's reaction.

 

Milah’s facial expression transforms, revealing her lack of opposition at the possibility. “That does sound appealing.” She chews on her bottom lip, mulling over the idea. “I don't know, Em. It takes a lot of practice and discipline to get a guy to commit to marriage in three months without falling for him.”

 

Emma scowls, not believing what she’s hearing. “Again you're doubting me? I can totally handle this guy. I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand in no time, believe me.”

 

“Of course! I'm not doubting your skills. I'm just looking out for you, that's all. I want you to be sure about this.”

 

“I _am_ sure about this,” Emma states tenaciously.

 

There’s still a bit of skepticism in Milah's eyes. “Are you absolutely certain you're up for this? Because it’s not going to be easy, and once he sees you for the first time, there's no switching back.”

 

Emma's lips slowly expand into a devilish smirk and she speaks in a tone that reeks of devilry. “Are you kidding? You know I love a challenge.” She takes a sip of her drink, licking the chocolate liquor from her lips as she contemplates the idea of gaining even a quarter of Hook's wealth in the divorce. Plus, she’s not opposed to admitting she’s looking forward to bringing a man like Hook to his knees. It’ll be a nice change of pace compared to her usual role and the typical wealthy men they go after.

 

Milah sighs in defeat. “Fine, you asked for it. He's all yours, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

Emma’s grin widens as she pulls the MacBook towards her, studying his photo. “Okay Hook, it looks like you're going to be my first husband. Hope you're ready for me.”

 

Milah finally smirks along with her, realizing her new task. “He’s about to have his world flipped. Trust me… he’s not ready for that.”

 

Emma lifts her martini glass, getting excited about pursuing her first target as primary. “Here's to our next and final mark.”

 

Milah nods her head and raises the strawberry daiquiri she’s barely touched, clinking the two glasses together. “Hook, line and sink him, sis.”

 

Emma smirks deviously, but on the inside her heart tightens just a little at the thought of crushing his heart. “Gladly,” she assures, bringing the glass to her lips and sealing the promise with a drink.


	3. Pre-Game Prep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of ends in a weird spot, but only because I wanted to shorten the next chapter and make this one longer (the next two chapters ended up being ridiculously long). Consider the end of this chapter as a teaser for what's to come next ;-)

**_~Rule #3: Never reveal your true identity. Establish a fake persona and tell as many lies as possible while keeping your story consistent.~_ **

 

“Another round, or are you done?”

 

“I'm up for it if you are.”

 

Milah smiles coolly at her sister, and sips from her glass of orange juice before shuffling the cards in her hand. She deals with expert precision and studies her hand carefully as Emma takes her turn. The blonde discards one card, and draws another, waiting for Milah to follow her example from across the breakfast table, the cool morning breeze sweeping around them as they discuss the details of their plan on the balcony.

 

“Okay, so I was thinking a meet-cute. You could accidentally run into him with a cup of coffee in your hand so it spills on your shirt and he has to buy you a new one.”

 

“A new cup of coffee or a new shirt?” Emma asks, curving a brow.

 

Milah smirks as she takes her turn, only half interested in the card game and more so about the con. “Well, I was thinking coffee, but a new shirt wouldn't be bad either.”

 

Emma playfully rolls her eyes as she sets down her hand, the front of the cards facing down, and spreads some raspberry jelly on a biscuit. “Seriously? That's the best you came up with?”

 

Milah shrugs her shoulders defensively. “What? It works every time. It's an ironclad classic move.”

 

“Mi, that’s how you met Gold. I think we can come up with something a little more original.”

 

Milah tilts her head in mock offense. “Then, what's your big idea, huh?” she challenges before taking a bite of her apple.

 

Emma gnaws on her bottom lip in contemplation. While Milah had been soaking in the tub the night before, Emma had found Hook’s practice and PGA schedule online, and had jotted down some detailed notes. It’s time to get their game plan in order, especially since he’ll be following the tour and leaving for Ohio a couple of weeks after the Players Championship. “Well, he always practices at Mills Ranch Golf Club in the mornings whenever he's in the area, so I was thinking I could go and use their driving range when he's there. I can pretend to be awful at golf so he’ll approach and offer to help.”

 

Milah is still chewing as she softly tilts her head in agreement. “That could work.”

 

Finally. They actually agree on something.

 

“It's your deal,” Milah reminds her.

 

Emma complies, dealing the cards and getting three hearts.

 

“So, why would you be at the driving range?”

 

Emma’s features fall in confusion. “Huh?” She doesn't think she can hear Milah correctly through her incessant chewing, because why else would Emma be going to the driving range, other than to practice hitting balls, and of course meet a certain pro golfer with a British accent?

 

The brunette finishes eating the apple in her mouth, and swallows the rest of it down before replying. “You need a reason to be there. Like practicing your swing for an actual game on the course. You need specifics.”

 

Emma nods in agreement drawing two cards and getting a flush. “I will think of something.”

 

Milah doesn’t even show her cards when she sees Emma’s hand and sighs, laying down her hand. “You win.”

 

Emma smirks in success and gathers the cards in a neat stack, setting them on the table.

 

“Do you know his schedule?” Milah asks.

 

“Sure do,” Emma replies with a smug grin and picks up the papers, waving them in the air. “That’s what the internet is for.”

 

“You mean it’s for stalking professional golfers?” Milah laughs.

 

“Yep, exactly.”

 

“Okay, well what about your name? What will your alias be?” Milah quizzes as she picks up her glass of orange juice and takes a sip.

 

“I was thinking Leia Buttercup.”

 

Milah snorts, almost spitting the drink out of her nose. “You can’t be serious?”

 

“What?” Emma asks nonchalantly. “What guy doesn’t watch Star Wars and doesn’t like Leia?”

 

“Those are the names of fictional princesses. Put the two together and it sounds totally made up.”

 

“It does not.”

 

“Yes, it does. It’s bad enough you chose Ima Conda the last time. You were lucky Robbie didn’t pick up on it.”

 

Emma’s brows arch up, eyes dancing with intrigue. “So, you’re calling him Robbie now?”

 

Milah glowers at her. “Don’t change the subject.”

 

Emma sighs in exasperation. “Look, Mi, I’ve already decided on the name and I’m not changing it. I’m the one who is stuck with it for two months, so I get to pick it.”

 

“Three months, you mean?”

 

“Huh?” Emma asks, picking up a strawberry from the fruit tray on the table.

 

“Well, this is your first time, and considering everything we know about him and that he travels a lot for his career, it’s most likely going to take you at least three months to get him to put a ring on it.”

 

Milah’s words give Emma pause and she briefly stares at the brunette before mumbling something under her breath. She sucks on the tip of the strawberry, taking a bite to refrain from flashing a scowl.

 

_Three months? Ha, that’s what you think!_

 

### $*$*$

 

That afternoon, Emma is prepared for anything, wearing a black skirt, a maroon button-up blouse and matching stilettos. She slips on her shades the second she steps of the apartment, the sun blazing in the sky and beating down on her. With determination in her step, her Macbook bag strapped at her side and her long blonde curls bouncing behind her, she strides to the nearby coffee shop to engage in an extensive amount of research. The next couple of days are going to be absolutely crucial. The planning and scheming and preparing part of the process will either make or break them. Everything the primary expels and reveals to their target, the way she dresses and the way she appears to the public are all essential elements in achieving the end result, especially now that the sisters have to bring their A games.

 

Emma and Milah have to know exactly what their roles are. Their new mark is nothing like either of them have targeted before. Not only have they never dealt with a multi-millionaire before, but they've also never gone for a man so young and attractive. To top it off, Emma's never been the primary, so this is a whole new ballpark for them.

 

The blonde, however, is optimistic.

 

Occupied with her research while nursing a hot cup of cocoa in a secluded corner of the cafe, the ambient sounds of espresso fading in the background, she’s able to sponge up plenty of valuable intel on the golfer. Digging deep into his personal life, she uncovers every little thing she can find, from Hook's favorite music to his favorite restaurant, his hobbies, his quirks and even his favorite clothing store.

 

Emma also stumbles upon the website for the Hope for Kids Foundation which includes more about the golfer and his career highlights.

 

_Turned professional in December 2009._

 

_Only other player other than Tiger Woods to win multiple U.S. junior amateur titles._

 

_Reached number one in the World in Amateur ranking June 2009._

 

 _Named 2010 PGA Rookie of the Year_.

 

_Youngest golfer to ever win the U.S. Open._

 

The stats are quite impressive, she has to admit. Emma clicks on the Foundation tab and reads about the charity event at Mills Ranch Golf Club he’s hosting after the Players Championship before he heads to the Memorial Tournament in Dublin, Ohio. Reading more about the organization, Emma’s heart tightens at the thought of stealing money from a man who has done so much for these children, but she has to keep reminding herself of the goal.

 

Cataloging the date of the charity event in the back of her mind, Emma decides she needs to show Hook she has a big heart and enjoys volunteer work. How she's going to pull that off, she's not sure yet.

 

Taking time in between her research, she stops at the Pro Shop to browse the selection. Meanwhile, she’s struggling to come up with a good reason for being at the driving range, so she thinks maybe if she starts up conversations with some of the other golfers, she can soak up some ideas. Going to the driving range because it’s a hobby will not cut it, especially considering she’s not supposed to be very good at it, and Emma doesn't have anyone to go golfing with besides Milah, but they can't be seen together. Hook can't know they are connected in any way.

 

Emma is perusing the different sets of clubs, trying to decide which one to get; she’s done some research online about choosing the correct ones for her type of experience, but still, the choices are overwhelming. Emma tries out several clubs and drivers, testing them to make sure they fit her strength and posture. With help from one of the employees, who appears to be half her age, she finds a golf bag with some suitable golf clubs. Next, she has to buy some golf balls. The driving range will provide them, but she thinks perhaps she can get back into golfing again since she will have the equipment to do so.

 

Immediately gravitating towards the more expensive balls, Emma reads the labels, finding a brand that boasts _pro performance,_ and grabs a sleeve of them.

 

“You know those balls don't actually improve your performance right?”

 

Emma turns her head towards the voice, her eyes falling upon a short brunette with a pixie haircut. Emma offers a small smile, feeling slightly embarrassed for going for the more expensive models. “Yeah, I know, I've just never purchased golf balls before.”

 

“I can tell.” The woman’s smile grows even brighter as she nods towards a set of golf balls that are the same price as a single one in her hand. “But that's okay, just thought I'd save you from spending more than you have to on something that can easily get lost or stolen.”

 

Emma arches a brow in surprise. “People actually steal golf balls?”

 

The brunette nods, her features growing more serious. “Oh, you'd be surprised by the course crime rate these days. If you ever decide to own a golf course, beware of thieves sneaking around during the middle of the night to relieve the lake of its golf balls. It’s a very serious crime.”

 

Emma stares at her blankly, not knowing what to say to that. “Oh… that’s… um—” she tries to get the words out, but is abruptly cut off by the lady’s buoyant giggle.

 

“I'm just joking with you.”

 

Emma sighs in relief. “Oh, right. I knew that,” Emma claims with a small laugh.

 

“I mean, people actually do steal them, but it's not a huge epidemic or anything. I think the city of Palm Beach will survive.” The brunette shakes her head, the laughter slowly dying in her throat. “My apologies, I clearly spend way too much time around golfers to the point where I talk and joke like them too. I grew up on a golf course and then I became a PGA tour agent,” she explains with a certain enthusiasm Emma isn't used to.

 

“Ah, I see,” she murmurs in contemplation, replacing the balls and grabbing the package the brunette had been previously referring to. She wonders—no, she recognizes that this woman _must_ know Hook, but Emma has to refrain from asking about him. “Well, thanks for the tip.”

 

“No problem. Just remember, it's okay to be thrifty when it comes to golf balls. Most of them are better than the golfers who choose to use them anyways,” she adds as Emma looks down, grabbing the golf bag she still has to purchase, “unless of course you're Killian Jones. There isn't a model quite like him.”

 

Emma's eyes snap to hers and she starts stumbling for words again, but for different reasons. “Hook—yy—you know him?” she finally manages, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

 

“Well I'd hope so. I _am_ his agent.” She sticks out her hand, offering it to Emma. “I'm Mary Margaret Nolan.”

 

Emma’s mouth goes dry as she shakes her hand. “Emma Swan. Nice to meet you.”

 

“So, I take it you're a fan?”

 

“Well uh… you could say that,” Emma stammers as the woman stares at her intently. “I've just heard of his foundation. I have a soft spot for children with special needs. In fact I’m looking for a place to volunteer here since I'm new to the area.”

 

“Oh, that's wonderful,” Mary Margaret exclaims. “Well, you’re in luck because there's a few here in Palm Beach.” Her features are creased in contemplation as she digs into her purse and pulls out a card, handing it to Emma. “In fact, Killian is hosting a charity tournament next week for the foundation, and we’re looking for volunteers who can pass a police check. I can put in a good word for you, too.”

 

Emma scans the invitation, which includes the event details, and offers a small smile, although she’s not sure she should accept it. She can easily fake a police check, but she's never actually worked with kids before.

 

“You should come. There will be a raffle drawing, golfing for the kids, followed by an auction and dinner.”

 

Before Emma can open her mouth to answer, Mary Margaret’s phone begins chirping in her purse.

 

“Excuse me.” The brunette retrieves it, glancing at the screen and laughs a bit, shaking her head, her eyes flickering back to Emma. “I'm so sorry, but I have to get going. A certain star golfer is being rather impatient, wondering where I’m at. He lost his lucky glove, so I had to make an emergency run to get another one for him,” Mary Margaret explains, showing Emma the said replacement glove in her hand.

 

“Do you normally do his shopping?” Emma asks in bemusement, arching a brow.

 

“No, but believe me, when Hook is unhappy, you do everything in your power to make him _happy_. Don't get me wrong, he's really as nice as he seems on t.v. but he can be a bit neurotic at times,” Mary Margaret comments, sliding the phone into her purse. “Especially when he can't find his lucky glove.”

 

“Okay, well you better go then,” Emma says, and they share a laugh.

 

“Alright, it was nice talking with you.”

 

“You too.”

 

“And don’t forget about the tournament. You should really come.”

 

Emma smiles, eyes full of promise. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

 

“Oh good. Hope to see you there, Emma!” With that, the brunette scurries off to the front counter to pay for the glove in her hand while Emma decides whether or not there's anything else she needs.

 

She’s also contemplating the idea of going to the charity event. She’ll have another chance to see Hook before he leaves for Ohio, and she’ll really have to make a good impression on him, so showing him how good she is with the kids at the tournament seems like the way to go. Not to mention, it’s a really good reason for her to work on her golf skills.

 

_Perfect._

 

Emma smirks in success as she flicks the invitation over the palm of her hand before tucking it into her purse and making her way to the check out.

 

It’s not until she leaves the store with her purchases, the conversation with the brunette playing in her head, when Emma realizes her big mistake.

 

_Fuck!_

 

She gave Hook's sports agent her real name! So much for having a fake one!

 

### $*$*$

 

Emma is still feeling like a complete idiot when she stands in front of Marco’s Italian Tuxedos. How could she be stupid enough to give out her real name? She guesses she just felt comfortable enough with Mary Margaret; it seemed natural talking to her, and Emma knows she’ll be an easy source of information.

 

Another source is staring her in the face—Hook’s favorite place to buy tuxedos for his winning games. She is here to get some contacts and intel on him, and normally this is an easy part of the job, but for some reason, her stomach is full of knots.

 

Taking a deep breath, Emma steps into the shop, her eyes circling around and observing the atmosphere and the customers. Oddly enough, there are two people she actually recognizes. And one of them is trying on probably the most hideous suit she’s ever seen.

 

“You don’t like it?” the man with brown, curly hair and bright blue eyes asks the other in bewilderment, and Emma can detect an Irish accent. “Come on, brown is my color.”

 

The one with dark hair shakes his head, dropping his face in the palm of his hand.

 

Grinning to herself, Emma walks over to the couple. “Um, sorry to interrupt, but I have to agree with him; that suit really looks awful on you.” Her words grab both of their attentions.

 

“Excuse me?” the Irishman asks, offended.

 

She looks around, quickly spotting a tux that is more suitable for him, and grabs it off the rack. It’s a bright blue suit made of Merino wool and comes with a matching vest and bowtie. “I just think something like this would be much better. It really matches your eyes.”

 

“Thank you. I think it would be better, too,” the other man agrees.

 

Emma holds it up to the skeptical Irishman, giving both a once over. “You could totally pull off a Johnny Depp look in this suit.”

 

The Irishman lifts a brow, and smiles a bit, peering up from the tux. “You really think so?”

 

“Absolutely. And you’d be able to wear it with either black or brown shoes, so you can still have some brown in your ensemble.”

 

The man takes the hanger and looks at the price tag hanging from the cuff. “I do like it, but it’s a bit pricier than I would like.”

 

Emma shrugs. “It’s made of Merino wool, which is very high in quality.” She takes the fabric of the sleeve in her hand, offering it to him. “Feel how soft it is.”

 

He adheres to her request and touches the fabric between his fingertips. “Oooh, that is soft. What do you think, Jefferson?”

 

The other man gives it a feel too before replying, “I think you should get it. Like the lovely lady says, it will go with your brown shoes,” he leans in closer to the curly-haired man, speaking more quietly, “and if you wear it, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

 

Emma gives him an encouraging smirk and he finally relents with a sigh.

 

“Alright, you talked me into it, lass. I’ll try it on.” He takes the suit and disappears into the fitting room while Emma and Jefferson wait for him.

 

“Thank you, ma’am, for stepping in. The brown really was ugly. And you wouldn’t believe how many different stores we’ve been, to find something to his liking.”

 

“Please, call me Emma,” she tells him.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma. I’m Jefferson,” he says extending his hand.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, too” she says, sliding her palm into his and shaking it gently. Emma engages him with a bit of small talk and he tells her they’d moved to Palm Beach two years ago and are now engaged to be married. She learns the two are both businessmen; Jefferson owns a successful shop that makes unique hats and the other man, who she learns is Graham, is the owner of a graphic design company.

 

When Graham steps out of the fitting room, he poses, grabbing the lapels of the jacket, appearing to appreciate the suit choice.

 

Emma has to admit, the man looks sharp in the tux, and she feels a little proud of her selection. She smiles and gives a soft nod of approval. “Yep, definitely Johnny Depp.”

 

“I tend to agree. I think I look rather fetching myself. Thanks for the advice.”

 

Jefferson sighs in relief. “Thank god. Do you take Discover?” he asks Emma, holding up his card.

 

She pauses, her smile fading a bit. Normally she wouldn’t hesitate to accept the card and swipe the number to steal from them. Maybe it’s because the couple seems so nice and genuine and because she knows once she and Milah finish what they came here to do, she’ll never have to steal again, but Emma just can’t do it. Not this time. “Actually, I don’t work here.”

 

“Oh. Apologies, love. You’ve been very helpful, we just assumed.”

 

“It’s not a problem.” Emma waves off their words with a flick her hand, smiling again. “Congratulations to the both of you,” she expresses politely. “When’s the wedding?”

 

“In three weeks,” Graham replies with a blushing smile as he looks over at his fiance, wrapping his arm around his back. “This one has finally made an honest man out of me.”

 

Jefferson’s cheeks are just as pink, and Emma laughs. “Well, I’m happy for you both. And with this tux, you will make a handsome groom.”

 

“Thank you, lass.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The men approach the front desk to pay for the suit as Emma peruses the selection, looking at tuxedos she thinks Hook would look good in for their wedding. But who is she kidding? The man could probably pull off anything, including the ugly, brown suit Graham was about to get before she had swooped in to save the day.

 

When the couple leaves, she waves goodbye and decides to see if she can get any information from the owner, but when she turns around, he’s missing from behind the till.

 

“Excuse me, miss?”

 

At the sound of the Italian accent, she turns around, seeing an elderly man standing in front of her with an unreadable expression on his face. When he crosses his arms, studying her carefully, she thinks she might be in trouble.

 

“Is it you who I should be thanking for making me look bad?”

 

Emma gulps, her stomach twisting with guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to—”

 

The man’s lips crack into a friendly smile. “What are you apologizing for? Those two men bought one of the most expensive tuxedos in the shop, along with a pair of brown shoes and said they would recommend this place to all of their friends. I should be thanking you.”

 

Emma breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Oh… it's no problem.”

 

The man sticks out his hand. “My name is Marco, what’s yours?”

 

“Emma Swan,” she replies, shaking it.

 

“Miss Swan—I like it. Have you ever worked at a tux shop before?”

 

“No, I haven’t. I just have an eye for what looks good. I get it from my sister.”

 

“So you’re a natural then. How would you like a job selling tuxedos?”

 

Emma’s mouth falls open in shock. “Really?”

 

He nods. “Really. I could use someone like you. Someone with fashion knowledge and good with people, especially the male gender. I'd pay you a base salary plus twenty percent commission. What do you say?”

 

Emma shrugs, a smile taking over her face, thinking it’s yet another way to run into Hook. Plus she’s also going to need a steady job anyway, because being unemployed is a dead giveaway that she’s only after his money. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

 

### $*$*$

 

Emma sighs as she looks at her reflection in the full length mirror. Milah had gone shopping for new wardrobes, picking out new looks for the both of them and convincing Emma to try on the clothes before the brunette applied her sister’s makeup. And as much as Emma normally enjoys this part of the job, this time around just doesn’t feel right for her. She’s dressed in a pair of shorts that she swears Milah purchased from Gap Kids—the top is bright pink and very, very low cut. After paying for the attire, Milah for some reason thought it would be a brilliant idea for Emma to wear a auburn wig that doesn't even reach her shoulders, and makeup that makes her completely unrecognizable.

 

“What's wrong, Em?” Milah asks from behind her.

 

“It's too much makeup and the outfit’s a bit over the top for the driving range.” Emma normally wears layers of makeup and dark eyeshadow with fake lashes. She always wears wigs and dresses provocatively when she’s supposed to trick a married man into having an affair. But now, she'll be the one marrying him.

 

“Wearing _shorter than short_ shorts and a top that makes me feel like my boobs are going to fall out just doesn't scream _marry me_ , more like _fuck me and don't forget to pay me_. I just don't think a man like Hook would want to settle down with a woman who looks like the hooker from Pretty Woman. What happened to dressing subtly?” Normally, Milah wears clothes that show off her curves and only a small amount of skin; the outfits were still sexy without being slutty.

 

“That went out the window when we decided to take on a professional golfer. You're going to be on television, and we have to disguise your real identity to the world.”

 

Emma turns around, flashing Milah a questioning frown as the brunette stands in front of her, adjusting a few strands of hair from the wig.

 

“But why?” Emma shoos her away and starts unpinning the wig. “None of our former marks know what I really look like, and this is going to be our final play. We’re fleeing to Hawaii when it’s over, so why not use my true identity?”

 

Milah’s features plummet in disbelief, as though she’s completely appalled by this idea. “You can't be serious?”

 

Emma sighs, laying the bobby pins on the dresser as she continues pulling them out of her wig. “I am. Just think about it… Hook’s a professional golfer. A guy like him wants someone who will be by his side, someone he wants to show off. Someone serious. And I can't be that person if I'm wearing more makeup than Bozo the Clown. I need to look like myself.” Emma pulls off her wig and throws it on the bed, shaking her head and letting her long blonde hair fall loose as she combs her fingers through it. Plus, his agent already knows what she looks like and how she dresses. She may be wearing a ton of makeup, but she doubts Mary Margaret won't be able to recognize her. Then, she will know Emma's a fraud, and the plan will certainly be ruined. Milah, however, knows nothing of Emma's encounter with the agent.

 

Milah shakes her head, picking the wig back up and attempting to hand it to her. “It's too risky. You need to put this back on.”

 

Emma doesn't reach for it. Instead she grabs a brush from the vanity to untangle her hair. “I'm the primary, which means—”

 

“Yes, you are, which means—” Milah attempts to finish, but Emma cuts her off just as quickly.

 

“Which means, we do it _my_ way this time.” After brushing through her locks, Emma grabs a tissue and starts removing the mountain of makeup from her face.

 

Milah lowers the wig and sighs with frustration. “You're so infuriating!”

 

Emma looks at Milah, taunting her with a grin. “And you love me for it.

 

### $*$*$

 

It's early… way too early. Dawn has broke in the vast blue sky as Emma leaves the apartment the next morning with her golf bag strapped to her shoulder, clutching her coffee like it's a lifesource. She'd finally talked Milah into letting her wear something simple and appropriate, something that a normal person would wear to a driving range, although it should have been Emma's decision in the first place.

 

Her hair is pulled up high into a ponytail, she's wearing a light amount of makeup, and is dressed in a red cardigan, a white top with navy blue pinstripes, a navy blue skirt and white tennis shoes.

 

Emma had learned from a few sources that Hook likes to go to the driving range at seven in the morning after he's spent some time on his boat before the sunrise, which only means one thing—the man is crazy! It's a good thing he’s hot because otherwise she'd still be in her warm, comfortable bed, sleeping; she is certainly _not_ a morning person.

 

When Emma pulls her yellow bug into the parking lot of the Clubhouse, the sun is peeking above the horizon painting the clouds with a radiant blend of pink, purple and orange, like a sea of cotton candy stretching across a deep neon blue.

 

Okay, she kind of gets why he’s out and about this early in the morning, but still, the charming view hardly seems worth losing a few hours of shut-eye over. Although she's guessing he’s not allotted much time during the day to think and focus on his game, especially a man as busy as he is. She guesses his peaceful mornings when he's not on tour are his escape.

 

Emma grabs her golf bag from the trunk and carries it to the clubhouse, drawing a wobbly breath before entering the building.

 

There’s a gentleman with hazel eyes and dark brown hair working behind the counter, who, when he greets her with a polite “good morning,” and a warm smile, seems a bit young, but friendly nonetheless. She immediately has to give him kudos for being up at this hour, at work and still pleasant to be around.

 

“Morning,” Emma grumbles, approaching the desk and setting her bag down to purchase a range value card, which is required in order to use the driving range.

 

Being a research junky who doesn't like to go in anywhere blind, Emma had investigated the country club the night before. It's an upscale public golf course that was opened in 1991 by the Mills family, before the married owners passed it down to their only child, Regina Mills.

 

The golf club showcases it's 72-par championship public play with a private feel, setting it apart from the other courses and yet, is reminiscent of so many resorts in the Palm Beach area. The layout is carved out of natural terrain, and the multicolored greens on the course makes it more difficult than it appears.

 

The club has been open to the public for only five years, but it's already established as a country club favorite and receives high marks from local golf enthusiasts for its playability, value and customer service. Judging by all of the framed photos hanging on the wall of the different golfers either at the driving range or on the course, the information she had found appears to be correct.

 

Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Emma inhales a deep yawn, and the guy chuckles a little as he hands her a pen for the registration book resting on the counter.

 

“Not a morning person I take it?”

 

Emma takes the proffered item and manages a small smile. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“Only a little,” he winks, but it's not a flirtatious gesture. The kid, she’s going with, seems kind and sincere and nothing like some of the sleazy hotheads she's run into thus far, who were cheesier than the dairy product itself.

 

“I haven't seen you here before,” he comments as Emma looks down at the registration page and begins filling it out. “First time in Palm Beach?” he asks curiously.

 

“Got me again,” she laughs sleepily, pausing briefly from her task to peer up at him. “I just moved here a week ago.”

 

His eyes seem to light up with intrigue. “Oh yeah? Where from?”

 

Emma thinks about that for a moment. Normally she doesn't divulge where she’s really from, but since she’s using her real name, she gives him the place where she’d last used her real identity. “Boston, Massachusetts. Ever been?”

 

He shakes his head. “Can't say that I have. So what brings you hear to Palm Beach?”

 

Okay, now the kid’s just being a bit nosy, but she answers anyway. “I just needed a fresh start.”

 

“Ah, I can understand that,” he mutters, tilting his head, his smile fading a little.

 

Emma has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She doubts he's ever been anywhere; he looks way too young to need a fresh start.

 

“I've been here since I was a baby, and sometimes I wish I could leave, but I have a hunch I'll be here for a very long time,” he states, a hint of bitterness edged in his words.

 

Emma arches a brow in curiosity. “Why?”

 

“Why do I want to leave or why am I stuck here?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Well, my family owns this place, and it's literally my entire life. I don't know if I could actually leave if I wanted to.”

 

“Ah, gotcha.”

 

“Yeah, my stepfather is playing in the PGA tour. You may have heard of him—Robin Locksley? He's tried to get me to follow in his footsteps, but it turns out I'm just not the golfing type.”

 

“So what type are you?” Emma inquires curiously.

 

“Well, when I'm not working here, I'm writing. I recently published my first book. It's about a kid who lives on the golf course with a dysfunctional family, not knowing exactly where he fits in. He has a step dad who's always travelling, a mother who's also his boss and a stepbrother who’s the favorite because he can hit a ball into a hole with a stick.”

 

“An autobiography, I take it?” Emma asks, a bit amused.

 

He chuckles, dragging a hand through his hair, his cheeks tingeing with blush. “You got me,” he pauses to take a peek at the registration before glancing up at her again, “Emma Swan.” He fetches a large bucket of balls, per request, setting it on the counter for her. “Sorry, I've been known to be, as my girlfriend likes to tell me, a bit of an open book, and as my brother likes to say, a huge pain in the ass,” he chuckles. “I bet you came here thinking you were only getting some practice swings in; you didn't know you’d be getting a story you didn't care to hear about, too.”

 

Emma laughs and nods, although she doesn't mind hearing his life story, even if it is at a godawful hour. It buys her some time to go over her strategy again before Hook arrives. “It's okay, we all have a little baggage, and I have a sis—” Emma stops herself and closes her mouth shut. She's not sure what the hell she's thinking telling this kid about Milah because no one can know about Emma's connection with her. Not _him_ or Hook or anyone else. “A _friend_ ,” she corrects, “from back home, who is always nagging me about everything, like she's my mother.”

 

“So this friend of yours… does she have anything to do with you wanting a fresh start?” Henry asks curiously.

 

Emma tries to hide the guilt flaring up inside her, and instead her lips twitch into a small smile. Milah is the main reason she came here, but also because she's a greedy, spoiled gold digger who's now after a guy who helps disabled children. She’s a real saint. “You could say that.”

 

“Well, I hope you find what you’re searching for.”

 

Emma offers a frail smile and grabs the bucket. The kid’s nosy, but not in a creepy way. Plus he's genuinely nice, which is a very refreshing change of pace. “Thank you.” She is not even worthy of this stranger's kindness.

 

“No problem. And if you need anything or have any questions, the name’s Henry.”

 

“It was nice talking with you Henry. I'll keep that in mind.”

 

“Plus, you're in luck because Hook Jones will be getting his practice time in. He should be here in approximately,” Henry looks at his watch before lifting his eyes to her again, “five minutes. He's very approachable, so I'm sure he’d be happy to assist as well.”

 

Emma’s eyes light up as she pretends to be surprised by the information. “Oh, that's good to know, thanks.” She starts to leave, heading for the door, but the sound of another voice has Emma halting in her tracks.

 

“Still holding the place down nicely I see.”

 

Emma turns around, eyes widening when they land on the very man she came here to see.

 

The flat screen television in the bar and the view from the beach definitely did _not_ do him any justice. He looks a hell of a lot better up close and personal.

 

_Why did she choose him as their next mark again? Oh right, because she’s an idiot!_


	4. Meeting the Opposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I'm excited to share this chapter with you. It's a bit long but I can assure it has some really good captain swan moments and it's all about what the title says - meeting the opponent. 
> 
> Thanks for all of your lovely comments, I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far!

**_~Rule #4: Think like your opponent. Know his every move so you can always possess the upper hand, but never seek him out, let him find you. Leave a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow, but never give him your whereabouts directly.~_ **

 

He's dressed in an azure polo shirt with a bit of dark hair poking out the top, a pair of khakis and a white baseball cap. Emma can tell by looking at him that he's hiding a nice washboard stomach underneath, and suddenly her belly tightens with nerves and her mouth goes dry at the idea of merely talking to him, let alone testing out her theory.

 

Henry's demeanor transforms, a smile blooming over his lips and his eyes lighting up when Hook walks in. “Morning, Killian,” Henry greets him enthusiastically as he goes around the counter and shakes the golfer’s hand before drawing him into a hug.

 

“Morning, Henry. How's it going, lad?”

 

They pat each other on the back, and there's a certain comradery Emma can detect between them, like they've known each other for years; Emma has a feeling they have if Henry's been here his whole life and Hook’s been coming here for as long as he has. It's actually kind of adorable, if she's being honest.

 

“It's going as expected. Just boring the daylights out of the customers, per usual, that's all,” Henry chuckles, breaking their embrace. “By the way, sorry about the Players, man. But you'll get the next one.”

 

“Thanks, mate. You're dad really did me in this time,” Hook chuckles. “I blame it on not having my lucky glove.” That's when he throws Emma a glance, and the air escapes her lungs as he gazes at her like he's seen her before.

 

She turns quickly and tries to leave for the second time.

 

“Excuse me, lass.”

 

Emma freezes in her tracks and turns around, her fingers trembling as she tries to speak, but can barely manage an audible “hmm?” because she can't believe _Hook_ is actually speaking to her as he walks over to the bag and picks it up, offering it to her.

 

“You forgot this.”

 

“Oh, right,” she laughs weakly and strides over to him, feeling like a complete idiot. Her heart is pounding as she takes the bag, her hand brushing against his. She shivers from the contact and her eyes connect with the bracing blue of his own. “Thank you.” Emma’s not quite sure how she’d managed to speak, but thankfully she’d done it without giving herself completely away. Once the bag is in her grasp, she scrambles out of the clubhouse where the daylight has completely taken over.

 

The temperature is warm but not oppressively hot, and the grass glistens with morning dew as she heads for the range, trying her best to find a breath again. Even when she’s able to draw in the fresh morning air, her exhale is unsteady and shallow. “Pull it together, Swan,” Emma tries to coax herself, setting her bag down next to one of the dividers, but it's not working very well. Her hands are shaking when she pulls on her glove. She had this part devised in her head, down to every last detail, but now she's finding it impossible to remember her game plan.

 

Emma waits with bated breath, and when Hook steps out of the clubhouse, she is trembling with fear; she can't even think straight. For Pete's sake, she's played this game many times. Never as the primary, but she's used her talents and charming persona to seduce men and have them eating out of the palm of her hand. And she does so with confidence and skill, never once failing. As soon as she sets her sights on the target, it's only a matter of time before he’s bending to her will. But she has a feeling Hook won't be as easy.

 

She can feel his eyes on her as he chooses the space next to her, and she tries her best to ignore him and just focus on what she's doing. But as the sunlight filters through the towering palm trees, the heat is starting to overwhelm the air, making her flustered and warm, so she slips out of her sweater, draping it over the divider. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, repeatedly going through the gameplan in her mind.

 

Okay, first she needs a club. Emma opens her eyes and selects a driver, taking it in her hand, but not forming a position yet, only looking for her target ahead.

 

“Pardon me for interrupting your practice, lass, but may I make a suggestion?”

 

Emma has to suppress a grin because he’s already fallen for her first trap. Not that it will matter anyway, because _holy hell_ , the lilt of his accent may very well _destroy_ her before she gets through the morning heat. To say his voice sounds much different in comparison to the poor audio quality of the flat screen in the noisy bar, is an understatement.

 

Keeping herself together somehow, she glances over at him and nods. “Sure.” Luckily her voice doesn't completely fail her and give her away.

 

“You have a lovely set of clubs here, but the driver is the hardest one to hit with because it’s longer and has a lower loft angle. Is this your first time playing?”

 

Emma nods and laughs, feigning embarrassment. “Yeah, I'm a golf virgin,” she lies.

 

Hook’s cheeks are painted with a soft pink as he offers a big grin. “Excellent, you never forget your first. And since you’re a beginner, you want to make sure your driver has a flexible shaft, a large clubface with a large sweet spot and a loft of at least 10.5 degrees, which yours does. But you don't want to start banging balls straight away, you have to warm up first. May I?” he asks, pointing to her bag.

 

When Emma nods, Hook reaches for one of her wedges and pulls it out, handing it to her. “You should always warm up with a wedge before you get deep into your session. It's the easiest to hit and builds up momentum. Five hits with this baby and you'll be a pro,” he says with a smirk.

 

Emma eyes the club suspiciously, hesitant to take it, and Hook chuckles.

 

“I promise it won't bite. Just grab it and we’ll see how you stroke it.”

 

Emma blushes, taking it in her hand and wrapping her fingers around it, testing her grip.

 

“How does it feel, love?”

 

Emma almost drops the club, a pleasant shiver skating down her spine. Could this man be any sexier? He's smoldering hot, has a British accent, calls her love, and everything he fucking says implants sexual imagery in her head. “It feels really good. Thanks for the tip.” Emma's cheeks are burning with red from all of the unintended innuendos.

 

Emma falls into position, holding it exactly the way she's not supposed to hold it.

 

“Do you know how to handle it?”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“That's okay, love.” He instructs her how to hold it—in her right hand first, then her left—and how to curl her fingers around it and interlock her pinky into the space between her pointer and middle finger. Emma does it wrong, pretending to be confused somewhere in the middle, and he has to start over.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, flustered.

 

“Don’t be. We’ll do it again,” he says sweetly, and she imagines this is how he is with the kids—calm and patient, but not condescending.

 

Emma eventually grips it the correct way.

 

“See? Not so hard, is it love?”

 

“I don't know, it feels pretty hard to me,” Emma blurts out and internally chastises herself, blushing profusely. Did she really just say that? Screwing her eyes shut in regret she shakes her head. “Sorry, I just— _wow,_ I really have no excuse for that one,” she laughs.

 

Thankfully Hook chuckles along with her, his cheeks also red and his brow hiked up as the corner of his lips pull into a heart-melting smirk. “That's quite alright. If someone overheard us, they'd think we were filming a porno rather than playing a sport.”

 

Emma laughs again. “Does golf always sound this sexual?”

 

“Well before you asked that, I was going to say, _now it's time to stroke the ball,_ so I'm afraid I’d have to go with _yes_ ,” he chuckles. “But seriously, would you like my help, love?” he asks when the laughter dies in his throat, but his smile never dims.

 

“I really don't want to interfere with your practice time,” she replies innocently, fluttering her lashes just a bit. “You have to be ready for the next big game in the tournament.”

 

Hook lifts a cocky brow, a smirk curving his lips. “Ah, so you've heard of me?”

 

Emma nods. “Why do you think I'm so nervous?” she replies, her voice shaking.

 

“I hadn't noticed,” he claims, but Emma knows he's bluffing.

 

“Liar,” she laughs.

 

Hook puts his hands up in defeat. “Okay, you're right. I did notice, but truthfully I think it's a good look on you.”

 

Emma is pretty sure she's as red as a lobster at this point, and it doesn't help matters one bit when she _carefully_ watches his form so she can _copy him_. He's so perfect in every way—the muscles in his arms bulge out when he holds the club, and the position he's holding is filling her head with naughty thoughts. She wants to be the thing he's gripping in his hands and holding in front of him, instead of the golf club.

 

Her eyes follow his arms, and down the inside of his right wrist, spotting a tattoo of a compass rose. She quickly glances up again, thinking it may resemble his brother who served in the Navy, but she can't mention it—not just yet anyway. She can't reveal her interest or how invested she is in him yet; she's already done enough by admitting she is nervous. Emma is supposed to be aloof, _untouched,_ not just another fan fawning over him.

So instead her focus falls to his form. She studies the line of Hook’s shoulders as he draws the club back, and his swing seems to accentuate the way his body narrows at his waist. She has to refrain from letting her eyes wander any further down.

 

She pulls her gaze away and watches the ball cut through the air before giving her own a try. But as Hook constantly hits his balls well past the two hundred yard mark, Emma pretends to miss every time.

 

“Keep at it, love, you’ll get it,” Hook encourages as he watches her.

 

His heavy gaze hinders her ability to do the simplest of tasks—breathing, swallowing, even seeing clearly—let alone hit a golf ball. After a few fake misses, she finally allows herself to hit it weakly, and it lands way too short. “I suck big time, and you make it seem so easy.” She swings and misses on purpose again. “What am I doing wrong here? I've played mini golf, and I'm so good at it.” She sighs in frustration, but of course it's all an act, although she's not sure how well she could actually play under the sea blue eyes scrutinizing her every move, if she honestly tried.

 

“Mini golf is not the same,” he chuckles, replacing the club in his bag. “Your swing’s all wrong and your grip is too tight. You have to keep your left arm straight, shift your weight once the club starts coming down and make sure you follow through. Mind if I show you?”

 

“Okay,” she replies skittishly, but on the inside she's grinning in success and craving to feel him around her.

 

Hook crosses the divider and closes the distance between them, coming up behind her. Even though he's not touching her yet, she can feel his body heat radiating off of him. “Nothing compares to the real thing,” he murmurs in her ear, and his husky tone and silky accent goes straight to her core, making her shudder. “You’re holding it correctly, but you're too tense. Take a deep breath and loosen your grip.”

 

Every muscle in her body tightens in anticipation as he steps in close, pressing his chest to her back. She takes a long, deep breath, pressing her shoulder blades more firmly into his chest, and as soon as he wraps his arms around her, she immediately melts, her limbs turning into jello, and gets lost in his hold. “That's it, just relax.” The deep timbre of his voice resonates through her entire body, making her quiver in his arms.

 

She feels him breathing rhythmically, his heart hammering against her back as a cloud of warmth consumes her whole. If there's one thing Emma is learning here, it's certainly not golf, more like the undeniable truth that it feels heavenly to be wrapped up in Hook’s arms. Emma's eyes flutter shut as his hands slowly slope down her arms, setting her skin ablaze as his palms and fingers close around her hands on the club. “Now stand up straight and pull your shoulders back.”

 

Emma does as she's told, letting herself conform to his body even more and fall into the correct posture.

 

“That's good, love, but your grip is still too tight, you're not ready to stroke yet,” Hook comments, his husky, sinful voice and breath hot in her ear. _Oh, she's definitely ready to stroke something._ Emma quickly shakes the thought from her mind.

 

_Stay focused on the game. He's just another mark. Don't let him affect you._

 

Emma breathes in slowly as she loosens the muscles in her hands, and Hook guides her through the steps again.

 

“Spread your legs until your feet are shoulders width apart, keep your arm straight,” he tells her, running the pads of his fingers up and down her skin leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, “and use your hips when you swing.” Emma moves her feet so they’re further apart and keeps her arm in place when she swings the club, but doesn't shift her weight like she's supposed to. Hook curls his fingers around her hip to pull her back, and she inhales a sharp breath and almost moans when her butt brushes against his groin, but as soon as they touch he’s pressing her forward.

 

She’s supposed to follow through, but she can't seem to concentrate with his hand gripping her hip. Plus, she can smell his cologne, the tang and spicy scent wafting around her, and she can feel the prickle of his scruff against her ear and the way his muscles ripple against her back as he encourages her and gives her instructions. Emma’s a shattered mess, and he's merely touching her. She’s too lost in his embrace, she doesn't want him to pull away.

 

“That's good. Don’t stop,” he tells her, his breath still fierce on her earlobe and Emma suppresses another moan, shivering at the words and the commanding tone. She can't even recall getting this worked up over sex. “Keep swinging all the way through. You think you can handle it now?”

 

Emma nods dumbly as he releases her hip and pulls away, and she can't recall a word he’s just said. All she knows is she misses the weight and warmth of Hook’s body pressed up against hers and she misses his strong grip on her hands and hips.

 

“Why don’t you give it another shot?”

 

Hook coaxes her through it, reminding Emma about her grip and stance.

 

Emma swings, unable to do anything else, and watches as the ball soars through the air landing right around the one hundred yard marker.

 

“You did it, love!” he chants excitedly. “I knew you could.”

 

“Only because you helped me.” _Another lie._ She normally hates playing the damsel in distress, but this time, it seems to have been well worth the effort, which has nothing to do with his touch still lingering on her skin and everything to do with the smile blooming over his lips and the blush in his cheeks.

 

“You just needed a little guidance is all.”

 

Hook suggests a different club and Emma grabs it out of her bag. After a few minutes, she begins swinging and hitting the balls how she normally does, which is incredibly amazing to her because her stomach is still coiled in knots and she can feel the nerves slithering underneath the entirety of her skin.

 

“See? Look at that, you're a natural,” Hook praises, and Emma's heart flutters in excitement, a thrill rushing through her blood.

 

She works her way through the golf balls and each time she swings, her nerves dwindle just a bit more. When she finishes her bucket of balls before Hook does, she takes her bottle of water from her bag and steps back behind the divider separating her and Hook. Taking a sip of the cool, refreshing liquid, she appreciates the view he’s offering as he takes a swing and bends over to place the ball on the tee. She had enjoyed the game before today, but she's now deciding that golf is the best sport ever.

 

Hook notices she’d left from her spot and offers his balls. “I'm not opposed to sharing if you'd like to play some more.”

 

“Oh, that's okay. I should probably get going anyway. Just wanted to get some practice time in before work,” she says, going back to her station, sliding the club into the bag and removing her glove.

 

“Ah, I see.” Hook lifts his golf club, resting it on his shoulder. “And what brings you here to the Driving Range at seven in the morning by yourself?”

 

Emma's features fall into a questioning glance, her brows dropping and wrinkling the space between them. “Can't a girl just come here to practice for no reason?”

 

“Well yes, of course, love, but I think you do have one. You don't seem like the morning type.”

 

Emma scoffs, returning her water bottle into the pouch she’d gotten it from. “Well, aren't you perceptive?”

 

Hook grins smugly. “So, you're saying I'm correct?”

 

She rolls her eyes at his arrogance. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

 

Hook stares at her with earnest eyes and gives a soft nod. “Perhaps I would.”

 

Emma has to hold back a smirk as she looks down at her watch. “Sorry, but I have to go now or I'll be late for work.”

 

Hook seems a bit perplexed as he watches Emma gather her things. “So, I can't even get your name?”

 

“You could...” She straps the bag to her shoulder and turns her head to look at him while a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, “but what fun would that be?” Facing the clubhouse again, she makes her way to the entrance, feeling his gaze burning into her back.

### $*$*$

 

Killian stands there bewildered as he watches her leave. She's dressed in innocence and professionalism, but she’s clearly a vixen.

 

And he enjoys it.

 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when he’d seen her in the clubhouse at seven a.m. talking with Henry. Killian normally shows up to practice this early to avoid being seen and chatted up by the other golfers. He enjoys the quiet and peacefulness of the morning, without cameras and fans following him around, or being interviewed and having to talk about the same thing over and over. But he certainly wasn't complaining when not only did she come here to practice, but when she needed his assistance.

 

Her perfume still remains behind his nostrils, and her soft, smooth skin is still ghosting over his fingertips. He hadn't stopped thinking about her since last week, but _bloody hell,_ he's even more intrigued. He's not sure exactly when he’d been this affected by a woman—probably never, come to think of it—but it doesn't matter. He needs to focus on the game. He needs to focus on the tour and the charity event and the kids. He doesn't have time to wonder about pretty blondes who will only distract him.

 

Killian turns around and starts packing his things, so he too can go where he needs to be. He has a bit of a break before he leaves for Ohio, but there's much to be done for the tournament he's hosting, and he knows his agent will be calling soon asking where he's at.

 

He grabs his bag and turns to leave when his eyes fall over a red sweater draped over the divider. A shaky breath leaves his lips as he retrieves it. Lifting it to his nose, he takes in the scent of the fabric, and it smells sweet and fresh like cherry blossoms, and it smells exactly like the woman he’d helped with her golf swing. During her state of urgency, or possibly her need to leave him in the dust, she'd forgotten it.

 

Killian rushes into the clubhouse, hoping she hasn't left yet, but when his eyes wander around, she's nowhere to be seen.

 

“Henry, did the lass who was just here leave already?”

 

“Who, Miss Swan? Yeah, she did. She said she had to get to work.”

 

Killian looks out the window, and sure enough, he sees a red convertible pulling out of the parking lot, Emma's blonde hair blowing in the wind as she accelerates on the gas, speeding away. He hurries to the desk, his eyes widening as he looks to Henry for more answers as he holds up her sweater, showing it to him. “She forgot this out on the practice range and I have to return it to her.”

 

“Oh, I can just call her and let her know. I have her contact information from when she filled out a registration form.”

 

Henry starts to pick up the desk phone, but Killian puts his hand on Henry’s to stop him, forming his own ideas when he heads for the door. “That's okay, I can give it to her myself. What’s her name?”

 

Henry gapes at him in confusion. “Wait, you're not going to…”

 

Without hearing the entire question, Killian knows exactly what Henry's about to ask him, and a smirk curves his lips.

 

Henry’s eyes blow wide when he realizes, _yes,_ he knows exactly what Killian is up to. “You are, aren't you?”

 

“Come on, lad; you know I never take the easy route. Now, tell me her name.”

 

Henry chuckles and shakes his head. “Her name’s Emma, Emma Swan.”

 

“Thanks, mate.”

 

As he opens the door, Henry calls out, “But you didn't hear that from me.”

 

“You got it.” Killian runs out the door and hops into his blue Mustang, revving up the engine and peeling out of the parking lot.

### $*$*$

 

“It went fine. He helped with my swing and asked what my name was, so I'd say the first encounter was a success,” Emma explains to an anxious Milah over the phone, driving casually through Palm Beach as she recounts the details.

 

“Which you didn't tell him, right?”

 

“No, of course not.” Braking at a red light, Emma glances in her rearview mirror, seeing the clear road behind her and the palm tree leaves dancing softly in the gentle breeze. The traffic’s not too busy in this part of town at this hour, which she knows will change rapidly as she nears downtown, joining all of the commuters who are also heading to work.

 

Emma hears Milah sigh in relief. “Good. You’re still going with Leia, right?”

 

_Shit._

 

Emma hasn't exactly told Milah she’s using her real name. “Ummm…” Emma tightens her lips, deciding how she's going to break this to her.

 

“Emma?” Milah questions skittishly. “Look, if you changed the name, I'm okay with that; you just have to tell me these things.”

 

“Yeah, about that…” The light turns green, and Emma’s foot switches to the gas pedal, pressing down firmly. She takes off, hearing the sound of a car horn from behind. Furrowing her brows, she peers into the rearview mirror, seeing a car zooming down the road from a good distance away.

 

“Emma, what did you do?” Milah asks, irritated.

 

Emma doesn't think much about the car behind her and continues down the road, her stomach coiling with knots. Milah is going to find out anyways, but Emma doesn't think now’s the best time. “Look, I'll have to tell you about it later; I'm almost at work.”

 

“Just tell me, Emma.” Milah demands, but Emma can barely hear her over the annoying, incessant car horn. She looks into the rearview mirror again and sees a blue Mustang following behind her. She turns right at the next green light, hoping to get rid of this person, but the vehicle is hot on her tail, and she can't see who it is.

 

“It’s nothing; it can wait.” Emma watches in the mirror as the car whips around to her left, and she looks ahead, trying to focus on the road and her attempt to end the phone call with Milah.

 

“Emma!”

 

The lines on her forehead crease, pulling up her eyebrows when she hears her name being called. She looks to her left and sees the top pulled back and the person calling her name as he holds up her sweater.

 

Emma’s jaw drops in shock. She’d purposely left it back at the range, expecting him to find out her name in hopes of finding a way to run into her. But she hadn't expected _this_.

 

“Emma Swan!”

 

“You gave away your real name?!” Milah yells through the phone.

 

“Milah, I'm going to have to call you back.” Quickly hanging up, Emma breaks at a redlight and looks over at the crazy man, who’s wearing a smug grin and sunglasses, so his baby blues are hidden, but she thinks it's a good thing.

 

“You left this behind, love!” he calls over the idling engines.

 

Emma rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, I got that! And you're not going to stop following me until you return it to me, are you?!”

 

Hook shakes his head, his smile only widening. “Not a chance!”

 

She laughs and shakes her head, and when the light turns green, she leads the way as he follows behind her until she pulls up in front of the Tuxedo shop. Emma gets out and shuts the door, walking around as Hook pulls up behind her vehicle.

 

Again her stomach tightens with nerves when he leaves his vehicle, holding her sweater in his hand and a smug grin on his face. Just when she's relieved he's still wearing sunglasses so she can't be hindered by those hypnotizing eyes, he lifts his sunglasses, resting them on his head. Emma takes a deep breath, trying to mask any effect he has on her as she walks over to him.

 

“How do you know my name?” she demands, her words laced with irritation.

 

“A little birdie told me so.”

 

Emma scoffs. “Does that bridie go by the name Henry, by chance?”

 

He replies with, “Can't say, I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” which Emma knows is really a _yes._ “Here, love. I couldn't let you go without this,” he says handing the sweater over.

 

Emma manages a small smile as she takes it. “Thank you,” she swallows thickly, trying not to get caught up in his gaze, “but you really didn't have to. I could've lived without it,” she laughs feebly.

 

Hook plants his hands on his hips, and his cheeks redden as he peels his gaze away very briefly and shrugs. When his eyes connect with hers again, she loses another sharp breath. “Well perhaps it was an excuse to track you down.”

 

Emma can't control the smile threatening the corner of her lips. “And why would you want to do that? Am I to assume you're some kind of stalker? Because I gotta say its it's kind of a turn off.”

 

Hook chuckles. “Actually, no, I just didn't get a chance to invite you to the fundraising event I'm hosting on Saturday. If I don't find a date, I will never hear the end of it from my friends, especially my agent.”

 

Emma nods in understanding and folds her arms over her chest. “Ah, I see. Well, it just so happens your agent already invited me.”

 

Hook arches a brow, surprised. “You know my agent?”

 

“We met at the Pro shop. We got to talking and I mentioned I was looking for some volunteer work, so she suggested the tournament.”

 

“You're going as a volunteer?” he asks, and there is a softness buzzing in his eyes as his gaze seeps into her soul.

 

“I am. Why do think I went to the driving range? I wanted to practice my golf swing so I didn’t look like a complete fool,” she lies, and thankfully the interest flickering in his blue depths tells her he's buying it.

 

“Ah, I see.”

 

“But... I'm sorry I can't help you in the dating department. I don't date,” she states firmly.

 

Hook appears to be taken off guard by her answer, and she's pretty sure he's never been turned down before. “You don't date? Or you choose not to date?”

 

“Is there a difference?”

 

“So, I can assume you've had an unpleasant experience in that department?”

 

She doesn't answer, and instead turns around and walks to the passenger side of her car to retrieve her outfit for work.

 

“I've hit a nerve?” Hook asks, and there's a hint of desperation in his voice.

 

Emma grabs the dress bag from the hook and shuts the door before looking at Hook again. “You can’t have any kind of dating experience when you don’t date,” she says flatly.

 

“Never?”

 

“Never,” she answers quietly, and the pain she keeps buried inside from being alone—from never being able to date because it's strictly forbidden when living the lifestyle she lives—bubbles to the surface. “Thanks again for the sweater, but I have to get to work.”

 

As she starts to leave, Hook eyes the tuxedo shop, confused. “You work at Marco’s?”

 

Emma turns around to answer him. “Yeah, I do. I’m the new tailor. Are you surprised?”

 

He shrugs. “A little. I thought tailors were supposed to be old, wrinkly men? You are certainly not any of those things, love.”

 

“And what would you say I am?” she asks curiously.

 

Hook blushes and scratches behind his ear, a bashful grin curving his lips. “You’re young and dare I say beautiful.”

 

Emma tries not to crack a smile at that, ignoring the coy sparkle in his eyes. “Well, fashion is kind of my thing. Plus, a girl’s gotta make a living in a new city somehow.”

 

“Fair enough, love. Perhaps I'll see you before Saturday, then. I need to get my tux altered for dinner at the country club, and this happens to be the only tux shop I go to.”

 

“Of course it is,” she rolls her eyes.

 

“What? It's true. You can ask anyone. Ask Marco. He can attest as a witness. He’s altered many of my championship tuxes in the past. I wouldn't lie to you, love.”

 

“I'll take your word for it,” she laughs and steps towards the door to haul it open, flashing him one last glance. “When will you be by, just so I know when to _not_ show up for work that day?” she teases, and a smug smirk crosses his lips as he approaches her.

 

“I could tell you, love,” he leans in, closing the gap between them, speaking in a low, taunting tone that makes her gasp, “but what fun would that be?”

 

With that said, he turns and walks away as she watches him in complete awe. As she goes inside, she can’t wait to tell Milah the progress she has made so far, once the brunette gets over being pissed at her of course.

### $*$*$

 

When Killian drives home after golf lessons with the kids, he still can’t believe Emma had turned him down. He’d chased her in his car across town just to bring her the sweater she’d left behind, and she didn’t even seem very grateful. But he’s not deterred. In fact, ever since the lessons he gave her that morning, he hasn’t been able to focus on much of anything else.

 

He’s not accustomed to women turning him down, he’s used to women who seek out his attention and company, so really it’s a nice change of pace to do the chasing instead of being chased. Women mostly go after him for his looks and his money, but Emma seems… well she seems different. She has a broken soul, he can tell she’s been burned in the past, and he knows she is not some gold digger after his money. She is the real thing.

 

“Killian? You there?” his agent asks through the phone, pulling him from his thoughts as he walks into his place, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Yeah, sorry, what were you saying?”

 

“I asked how the session was?”

 

“Oh right, it was fine.”

 

“So, why am I not convinced then?” Mary Margaret asks with that tone which makes her sound more like his mother than his manager or friend.

 

“I assure you, I'm fine,” Killian chuckles. “It's just difficult to stay focused is all.”

 

“Oh? And why’s that? You’re not stressing out over the losing the Players tournament, are you? Because you’re going to bounce back, I’ll make sure of it,” she assures with a small laugh.

 

Killian takes off his cap, running his hand through his matted down hair as he makes his way to his bedroom. He’s not too thrilled he’d ended up in second place at the tournament and lost his number one on ranking, but he’s been distracted by something else in particular… or rather, _someone._ “You are right, I will, and I really don’t know where I’d be without you. I just… I don’t know, I met someone today at the driving range and ended up going after her when she left her sweater behind.”

 

“Wait, back up. You met someone? Who is she?”

 

Killian laughs and holds the phone between his ear and shoulder to strip off his watch, placing it on his nightstand along with his keys. Of course that’s all she heard. “Just someone who needed help with her golf swing. And it turns out you’ve met her already.”

 

“I have?”

 

“Aye, does a pretty blonde with green eyes, lost in the Pro shop seem familiar?”

 

“Actually yes. I helped her find the appropriate golf balls, and invited her to the event.”

 

Killian stops in his tracks on his way to the bathroom.“Wait, she was looking for golf balls?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

 

“And that was before you invited her to the event?”

 

“Yeah... why do you ask?” she questions suspiciously.

 

Killian thinks about that for a moment. Emma had told him that after she ran into Mary Margaret, she went to the driving range to get some practice time in for when she volunteers at the event. If that’s so, then what was she doing at the Pro shop looking for golf balls in the first place? “Oh, no reason.” He immediately tries to shake it off, but there’s something off about the whole thing; he just can’t place his finger on it. Perhaps there is a good explanation, though. And perhaps he is intrigued enough by Emma to find out more about her.

 

Killian and his agent discuss endorsements and other important details of the event before he hangs up and peels off his sweaty clothes, heading straight for a cold shower, trying to rid his mind of the mysterious blonde woman, but it doesn’t work very well.

### $*$*$

 

Emma is not looking forward to going home after work and receiving the wrath from Milah she knows will be delivered. Okay, maybe she deserves it a little, but still, Emma is very confident about this whole situation. She’s already well on her way to winning the game, so Milah should be a little grateful.

 

Entering the apartment, Emma is immediately faced with an angry-looking Milah in the living room, who’s crossing her arms and scolding her. Emma smiles skittishly and deposits her bags and things on the floor before removing her blazer, draping it over a chair. She makes her way to her bedroom, but the brunette follows.

 

“Oh, no. You are not going to avoid me. You’re going to tell me why I heard someone calling your name.”

 

Emma tries to ignore her and enters the bedroom to change into something more comfortable, but Milah grabs her arm, forcing Emma to turn and look at her.

 

“Ow. What is your problem?” Emma asks, irritated. After a long day, she just wants to relax, not be interrogated by Milah.

 

The brunette releases her arm, but stares at her waiting for answers as the blonde rubs her arm. “Em, please tell me what’s going on?” she asks, this time in a softer tone.

 

Emma starts searching for some loungewear in her dresser drawer as she answers. “I ran into Hook's agent and accidentally gave her my real name, okay?”

 

“Wait, you did what?”

 

When Emma grabs a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt and turns to deposit them on the bed, Milah’s eyes are blown wide, full of rage. Emma peels her gaze away and avoids looking at her as she removes her heels and the white pearl necklace she’s wearing. “Milah, I’m sorry, it was an accident, but things are going really well. I already have him eating out of the palm of my hand.”

 

“Emma, it doesn't matter. It’s over. This whole thing's going to blow up in our faces otherwise. We need to leave Palm Beach!”

 

Emma’s eyes widen as she looks at her sister. “What are you talking about? We can't leave! Everything’s already set in motion. I was invited by both Hook and his agent to the charity event he’s hosting and he even chased me down in his car to bring me my sweater and ask me to be his date, but I said no. Everything is going as planned. In fact better than planned.”

 

Milah’s eyes grow wild again, and Emma is fairly certain her sister’s going to explode. “You turned him down?! He’s a freaking gorgeous multimillionaire, and you turned him down?!”

 

Emma unbuttons her blouse, again trying to avoid looking at her. “So? You always turn the guy down at first.”

 

“Yes, but all of those men put together were not worth seven hundred million dollars!”

 

Emma nods. “True, but Hook isn’t aware I know that about him.”

 

“It doesn't matter because I’m calling the whole thing off!”

 

Emma laughs while tugging off her blouse and tossing it into the hamper. She grabs her t-shirt, and pulls it on. “You can’t just call it off.”

 

“I sure can.”

 

Emma turns to look at her again, her words laced with desperation as she speaks. “Milah, please just let me do this. I promise I can make it work,” she assures with pleading eyes, taking Milah’s hands in her own. “Just give me a chance. I promise you, I can do this. Remember, it’s our last con and then we’re off to Hawaii.”

 

Milah doesn’t speak for a moment and breathes an exasperated sigh. Emma can tell her sister is quietly relenting. They’ve been through too much together for Milah to not be able to trust her. “Fine, I’ll give you another chance, but you better not screw this up.”

 

“I won't, just trust me, sis.”

 

“I do.” Finally, a smile breaks over Milah’s lips, and the anger is no longer settled in her features. “Okay, now you have to tell me everything that happened. I want every detail.”

 

Emma grins in success, utterly relieved Milah’s back on board. “You got it.”

 

The brunette claps her hands in excitement. “Okay, I’ll make the popcorn.”

 

### $*$*$

 

The next day, the bell over the shop door rings, signaling that a customer has walked in. Emma looks over from her task of sweeping the floor to greet them when she sees it’s none other than Hook Jones.

  
_Wow,_ the man really has balls other than the ones he hits for a living. None of the men Milah had gone after were ever this persistent, and Emma’s not quite sure if it's a good thing or a bad one.

 

“Sorry, did I come in at a bad time?”

 

Emma hadn't realized how long she’d been staring with her mouth hung open, and _god dammit,_ why can’t she just act normal around him? “No, not all. I was just finishing up here.”

 

“Excellent, because as much as I like Marco, I was hoping it’d be you who helped me.”

 

Emma suppresses the smile threatening her lips. “Hmm, so, since you don’t have your suit with you, I take it you’re not here to get alterations, only to pester me?”

 

“Actually, I’m here to acquire a new tux. I figure since one of the most important days of my life is coming up, I can splurge and buy a brand new one. What do you say, love? Care to help me out?”

  
Having been in the business for two days now, Emma is still learning the job, but she’s always been good at reading people based on what they are wearing.

 

She scrutinizes the man with the trimmed beard and perfectly rumpled hair, who wears non-designer brands when he’s not golfing, but is still dressed to the tee (no pun intended). She surmises that he prefers a mixture of style and comfort and insists that people value him for more than just labels. And judging by the plain bright red polo shirt he’s wearing, he likes a little attention, but not too much. “Considering that’s my job, I would say I don't really have a choice in the matter, now do I?” she asks with a trace of sarcasm in her words. “However, you don’t have an appointment.”

 

Hook looks around the place with an arched brow. “Since when? There’s not even anyone else here.”

  
“Since today. It’s a new rule,” Emma smirks.

  
“Alright? What’s the closest time you have available?”

 

“How about a quarter to never?”

 

“Brilliant. Right now it is then.”

 

Emma laughs and rolls her eyes as she walks to the supply closet and returns the broom to it’s designated spot. “You’re incorrigible.”

 

Hook looks at in her mock offense. “Me? You’re the one making up rules and fake times. You’re lucky I don’t report this to your boss.”

 

With a soft shrug, Emma tucks a pencil behind her ear, and retrieves a rolled up measuring tape before slipping her glasses on. “It’s not my fault you don’t have a sense of humor.”

 

“Oi, I happen to have a great sense of humor,” he retaliates, and Emma doesn’t doubt he does. She’s pretty sure he has many great qualities she’s not opposed to finding out about. She sucks in a deep breath and returns to Hook, attempting to keep her hands from shaking.

 

 _Relax, he’s only a mark,_ Emma tells herself and tries to steady her breathing as she comes up in front of him to begin her work. “Ready to get started?”

 

“Ready when you are, love.” Hook locks eyes with hers, but she quickly peels her own away and keeps them glued to the tape so his heated gaze doesn’t render her completely useless.

 

She tries to ignore the close proximity between the two of them and his gaze—his gaze almost does her in, even though she’s not looking at him directly—and manages to wrap the measuring tape loosely around his neck.

 

When her hand touches his chest as she takes the tape between her fingers, she swears the beat of his heart spikes just a bit. She quickly shakes off the thought and removes the tape, grabbing her clipboard to write down his measurements.

 

Emma can tell he’s done this thousands of times before because she doesn't have to tell him to hold his arms out so she can wrap the tape around his torso. She certainly doesn’t notice how hard his muscles are, or the way his abs ripple underneath the tape, or how his body radiates heat. As much as she tries to forget, the memories of him at the driving range wrapping his arms around her come flooding back. Not that she _can_ forget, but the images are vivid—the environment, the smell of the air, the smell of _him._ Emma has to pay close attention to her breathing, making sure to maintain a rhythmic beat.

 

Staying surprisingly focused on her task, she jots down his measurements, but she can still feel his gaze burning into her.

 

“So, are you always this quiet when taking your customer’s measurements?” he asks, breaking the silence.

 

“Do you always have your agent do your shopping?” she teases and makes the mistake of looking up, gasping when their eyes connect, goosebumps crawling all over her skin.

 

Hook eyes her in confusion at first, but she can almost visibly see him solving his unspoken question. “Ah, you’re referring to my replacement glove?”

 

Emma closes the gap between them and reaches behind him to measure around his hips. She quivers feeling his breath ghost over her skin and leans in closer than necessary, wondering what it would be like to feel his hips in her hands. “Yeah, she received your text when I was talking with her.”

 

“Love, if I had my agent do everything for me, do you think I’d be here with your arms wrapped around me?”

 

Emma trembles around him and pulls away. “I think maybe you had an alternative motive, perhaps?”

 

“Well, let’s say I did, and I came here to ask you to be my date again? Would you say yes?”

 

She shakes her head and laughs as she records his hip measurements. “No, but it would be a nice second try.”

 

Hook’s lips form a pout, and it’s certainly _not_ adorable. Nope. Not at all. “Here, we’ve had two intimate encounters now and yet you still won’t be my date?”

 

Emma snorts and looks up from the clipboard with a raised brow. “You never give up, do you?”

 

“No, I really don’t,” he laughs. “How do you think I became so good at golfing?”

 

Emma nods and moves on to measuring his legs, which is very awkward. She doesn't fail to notice her hand that is way too close to his crotch. She's fairly certain he also notices, because she can hear his breath hitch and sees him tilt his head back slightly when she looks up at him. “You are pretty good, I’ll give you that.”

 

Hook lowers his chin and peers down at her with a wicked smirk. “Are you always this mean to men interested in you, or is this your idea of foreplay?”

 

Emma shudders at the fact that he’s talking about foreplay while she’s kneeling down in front of his groin. “Are you always this desperate or is this really how you woo the lasses?”

 

“Do you always answer a question with another question?”

 

“You mean like you just did?” Emma points out, standing up and taking note of his final measurements.

 

Hook chuckles and runs his hand through his hair. “Touche, love.”

 

“So, since you seem to always know what you want, I assume you already know what fabrics and style you want?”

 

Hook purses his lips in contemplation. “Aye, but I’m open to suggestions if my new tailor has any.”

 

Emma laughs, bringing him over to a bench to look over some fabrics.

 

“So, tell me something, love.”

 

Emma arches a brow, intrigued to know what he’s about to ask her. “What's that?”

 

“You've never golfed before the driving range, right?”

 

“Yeah, that's right,” she answers skittishly, not expecting that.

 

“But you were at the Pro shop when you met my agent… do you participate in other sports?”

 

Emma has to think about how to respond for a moment. Mary Margaret may have told him how exactly they met—Emma was looking for golf balls and buying a golf bag. She curses herself at her stupid mistake. If she's not careful, Hook’s going to know she’s lying through her teeth. “No, I was buying golf equipment for a friend… for his birthday. He and his dad play all the time,” Emma replies as casually as possible, thinking of Neal as the guy she'd be buying golf equipment for. “I had them shipped to Maine, where he's from.”

 

“Well, that was thoughtful of you, love. Are you from Maine as well?”

 

Emma shakes her head. “No, I'm from Boston, but we met in college.”

 

“Ah, I see. So, you've never dated him?”

 

Emma shakes her head. No, we've always just been friends.”

 

Thankfully, Hook seems to accept her answer and changes the subject. She breathes a sigh of relief and discusses more specifics about the suit, pointing out which one she thinks will be a perfect fit.

 

He orders the tux and she promises to have it ready in time for the event.

 

Before he leaves, he winks at her, holding a smirk and says, “I look forward to picking it up, love.”

 

When he walks out of the shop, Emma expels a long breath. Her heart is still racing from her encounter when she arrives home that evening, but she's not worried. She's infatuated by his handsome looks, but he is merely a pawn in this little game. And she is not interested in anything more than taking his money—no, not at all.


	5. Let the Games Begin

**_~Rule #5: Play the crowd. When surrounded by strangers, take the opportunity to make eyes at a few of them to let your target know you can have any man you desire. Some may be turned off by the notion that they have competition, but a true competitor will either accept the challenge or find your obvious self-confidence attractive.~_ **

 

“Emma! I’m so glad you could make it!” Mary Margaret greets exuberantly when Emma arrives at the golf course. It’s a perfect day to be on the green—warm and sunny without a cloud in sight.

 

Emma gives the woman a kind smile. “Thank you for inviting me as a volunteer. I’m honored to be a part of this fantastic event.”

 

“And we are happy to have you!” Mary Margaret is carrying a clipboard in one hand and grabbing Emma’s with the other as they start walking. “I will introduce you to the group you will be working with, but first thing’s first—are you single?”

 

Emma lifts a brow, eyeing her suspiciously. “Am I that transparent?”

 

The brunette laughs and shakes her head. “No, sorry, I was wondering because after the tournament, we’ll be holding a Date Auction where bachelorettes will be bid on for a date here at the country club. And I was wondering if you wanted to sign up? It’s basically a free dinner with some company.”

 

“Oh, I don't’ know…”

 

Mary Margaret stops and turns around, looking at her with pleading eyes. “Oh please, Emma. One woman dropped out at the last minute, so we need a replacement. As you know, it’s for a good cause. All of the proceeds go towards Hook’s foundation.”

 

Emma grimaces, not at all interested in being a doll one can bid on, nor having dinner with a rich snob who will undress her with his eyes the entire evening. However, when the bidder wins, Hook might get jealous when he sees her on a date with someone else, and the possibility of this intrigues Emma. Pondering whether she should or not, she thinks about what Milah would do and say about it, and makes her decision. “Okay, since it’s for a good cause, I'll do it. But I don’t have anything to wear, and I definitely can’t go on stage in this outfit.” Emma looks down at her sneakers, khaki shorts and tight blue tank top before looking up at Mary Margaret again.

 

The brunette grins and is practically jumping up and down. “Oh thank you, Emma! And don‘t worry about the outfit, just tell me your dress and shoe size and I‘ll do the rest.”

 

After writing down all the necessary information, Mary Margaret gives Emma a tour of the course, explaining the event in more detail. Each player has a pledge who has promised to sponsor a child of their choosing—a child they wish to see his or her dreams come true. The sponsors have also donated items to the raffle and would be bidding in the dating auction.

 

Hook’s agent goes on to explain the foundation and how it was born from a small group home for children who were living with developmental and physical disabilities and were isolated from society with no organized sports or socialized activities available to them. “Killian came to the kids offering these opportunities to them, along with a little hope and a lot of love. He wants nothing more than to help make these kids’ dreams come true.” Mary Margaret laughs a little, shaking her head at a thought. “Last Halloween, Ryan—one of the kids you’ll be working with—who was born with spinal muscular atrophy, wanted to be Captain Hook for Halloween because he always refers to Killian as the captain of the ship; he looks up to him and always says ‘I want to be just like Captain Hook’. So Killian had his wheelchair turned into a pirate ship.”

 

“Really?” Emma asks, thinking about that for a moment and starts putting the pieces together. “So, is this kid the reason why Killian named his yacht _The Jolly Roger_?”

 

“Oh, yes. Ryan had suggested it when Killian was trying to think of a name for the new yacht. He wanted Killian to have his own Jolly Roger. How do you know about Killian’s boat anyway?” Mary Margaret asks suspiciously.

 

_Crap._

 

“Umm... I don’t know, honestly, I think I heard it from someone at a bar or something. People talk a lot around here,” Emma laughs, trying to cover up the anxiety twisting in her stomach.

 

“They sure do,” the brunette agrees, and Emma sighs in relief as they approach a group of children. “Emma, this is the group you’ll be working with. Ryan over here, Chelsea, Hayley and Charly over there.”

 

“Charles,” the young boy corrects Mary Margaret—however he doesn’t look at her, and instead stares at Emma and smiles shyly, waving his fingers.

 

“There is also Anthony. He is Chelsea’s interpreter; he not only translates sign language, he also teaches her social and behavioral cues as well as management strategies for daily life, so eventually she won’t need any help.”

 

Emma greets the kids and shakes Anthony’s hand before she turns to Mary Margaret again, waiting for further instructions.

 

When Emma had accepted her offer, she didn't think about what this job would look like. Her primary goal at the time was to appear on Hook’s radar, begin her mission of collecting as much information as possible and to find ways to get close to him.

 

“You and your group can practice over there, and in an hour, the tournament will begin.” With that said, Mary Margaret hurries to a blonde man with a camera in his hands. Emma watches them kiss briefly before Mary Margaret slips back into manager mode and scurries off again.

 

Curious about who he is, Emma decides to store the question in the back of her mind for later and turns to her group.

 

“So, who wants to play some golf?”

### $*$*$

 

“What do you think of her?” Killian’s eyes land on Emma, who is standing next to Ryan as he looks at the beautiful woman like he is looking directly at an angel. The young lad is confined to a wheelchair because of spinal muscular atrophy after being diagnosed at only ten months old; however, Killian has never seen a more self-confident kid before. Ryan smiles more than anyone Killian knows, he is eager to learn new things and is always the first who greets everyone and includes new people in every activity he is doing.

 

“I think she’s doing great. She’s a natural,” Mary Margaret answers as Killian studies the woman who haunts his dreams more and more every day.

 

“Aye,” Killian agrees, raising a brow. He’s been mesmerized by her since the moment he’d seen her, and is even more so as he sees how good she is with the kids.

 

When he hears clapping and cheering from the direction he was staring at just moments before, he looks up again and sees Emma beaming at Ryan.

 

“She is really great with the kids, isn’t she?” Mary Margaret suddenly asks. When her eyes meet his it’s she who raises a brow this time. “What is it, Killian?”

 

He shakes his head, averting his gaze to the scenery in front of him and watches Emma placing the ball in front of Ryan’s wheelchair, encouraging him to hit the ball again. When he does, another wave of cheers and applauds fill the air, and Killian smiles approvingly.

 

Emma walks to Hayley, a blind girl, and her friend Chelsea who is deaf. The two of them have the most beautiful friendship in Killian’s eyes. He had never imagined these two could be friends when he’d met them because a girl with no sight and a girl who can not hear is a combination which makes everyone scratch their head. But it works. Chelsea has someone with her who translates everything into sign language for her, however, Killian knows she is lip reading and is really good at it despite her young age. He can see she is concentrating on Hayley’s lips and not looking at her interpreter at all. This fact makes him smile.

 

He admires these young people who are able to cope with their disabilities so easily. Sometimes he forgets they are disabled at all; they are all so eager and enthusiastic, always giving their best and having fun together. But sometimes the dynamic between them doesn’t work without help. Chelsea’s and Hayley’s friendship only works when there is a third party who translates what Chelsea is saying. Because she isn’t able to speak well enough so that people can understand her, and Hayley is incapable of seeing her, a third party is essential. But neither of the girls has a problem with that. Killian often watches them interact as if they were two normal teenagers, talking about boys, school and other activities.

 

“Yay! Well done!” Emma’s chanting brings him back to reality once again.

 

His smile widens when he sees her standing behind Charles, a ten year old kid with autism who has a golf club in his hands. Killian watches as another ball is placed in front of Charles, and Emma wraps her arms around his little frame to help him hit the ball, which he does. Involuntarily, Killian thinks about when he was doing the same with her, and a shudder runs down his spine.

 

“Earth to Killian.” Mary Margaret’s amused voice makes him stop watching Emma and the kids, and instead he tries to concentrate on his manager. He slowly turns his head, his eyes glued to them as long as possible until he finally looks at Mary Margaret, seeing the amusement dancing in her eyes, matching the tone in her voice. “If you stare at her any harder you might drill a hole in her head.”

 

“I am not staring at her, I'm just seeing how she interacts with the children,” Killian starts to defend himself, but gives up quickly and sighs. “Alright alright, there is something about that woman which fascinates me. Maybe it’s her confident behavior, or maybe it’s how good she is with the kids. I don’t know.”

 

Now it’s Mary Margaret who is staring at Killian as she tilts her head—a dead giveaway that she’s thinking about possible answers and how to help him reach his goal (whatever it is this time).

 

Killian’s eyes trail back to Emma, who is helping Chelsea hit the ball. He can’t help himself, but this whole scene warms his heart. It seems he had entirely misunderstood Emma and had awoken this morning with a false impression of her, but who can blame him after how she has treated him thus far? He didn't take her as the kindest or most caring person at first. He’d thought maybe she was too stuck up to go on a date with him, or maybe if she did give in and let him take her out, he’d only end up with his heart broken. And he’d never expected her to work so well with the kids. Perhaps she actually is kind, she’s just not one to show who she truly is right off the bat.

 

“Well, why don’t you join the group and help her out a bit, and you two can—um—talk? The kids would love to see you.”

 

“Right. I could do that, but I think I need to check on something else beforehand,” he fibs, because he knows exactly what his agent’s intentions are, as innocent as she may seem.

 

“Like what?” Mary Margaret asks skittishly, and at the same time, Killian waves his hand in the air, greeting his friend Robin who shows up at the perfect moment.

 

“Locksley!”

### $*$*$

 

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, but inwardly she is already forming a plan to let Killian and Emma have a quiet moment for themselves. She can see Killian is bewitched by her, judging by the way he stares at her—the way he talks about her; she sees the fire in his eyes. It’s the same interest—no, the same _passion_ —he normally shows during a competition.

 

Ignoring the men, Mary Margaret thinks about walking over to Emma and the kids, asking her if everything is okay, when suddenly an idea crosses her mind. She observes Emma looking in Killian’s direction, sees her smile at him and decides to take matters into her own hands.

 

“Hey, Robin, have you met Emma already?” Mary Margaret asks him with a mischievous grin, which grows bigger the moment she sees Killian’s shocked expression. “I would really like to introduce her to you. She is the one who is replacing Ariel tonight at the dinner auction.”

 

“She is?” Killian asks, perplexed and a tad too quickly to mask his eagerness to find the answer to his question. He swallows thickly, thinking about the implications.

 

Robin glances at him, surprised, while Mary Margaret suppresses a smile. She starts walking towards Emma and her group of kids, followed by the men.

 

Before she reaches them, David joins them, the camera now on his shoulder recording the walk to Emma and her group.

 

“Emma, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret asks when they approach.

 

“Everything's fine, I promise,” Emma assures with a small laugh.

 

“I had no doubts,” the brunette beams at her. “I was just wondering if you already knew Robin Locksley? He is married to the owner of the country club and is also one of the best golfers around.”

 

Emma shakes his hand, smiling at him. “Henry told me about you. You are his stepfather, aren’t you?”

 

Robin nods, grinning back at her. “That's right.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Locksley.”

 

“It’s Robin, lass, and it’s nice meeting you too. Mary Margaret was just telling us you will participate in the dinner auction later,” Robin remarks, offering a smirk. “Maybe I will try my luck and bid on a date with you.”

 

“Oi, mate! You are happily married,” Killian reminds him, a hint of jealousy in his tone. “Don’t let Regina hear that.”

 

“Oh come on, Hook, you only say that because you want to have her for yourself.”

 

Mary Margaret grins in success; she can’t tell who is blushing more—Emma who is trying to focus on the kids again, or Killian who is bashfully scratching behind his red tipped ear.

 

“We will have to wait and see who places the highest bid,” Mary Margaret chips in to avoid any awkward moments, and then looks at her husband, who is still recording the children. “Sweetie, can you lower the camera for two seconds? I want you to meet the volunteer I told you about.”

 

“This is her?” David does as he's asked and stops recording, lowering the camera to shake the other blonde’s hand.

 

“Emma, this is my husband, David. He’s the camera operator if you couldn’t already tell,” Mary Margaret introduces proudly.

 

“Ah, I figured you didn't normally go around kissing the camera crew,” Emma says with a smile and turns her eyes to David. “It's nice to meet the other half of the kind woman who invited me to volunteer at this wonderful event.”

 

“You too, Emma. And she is definitely the better half,” David remarks, winking at his wife.

 

“I tend to disagree,” Mary Margaret blushes at him; she could easily get lost in her husband's eyes, so she immediately shifts her focus to Killian, maintaining her professionalism. “Hook, didn’t you want to talk to the kids? I think this would be a great moment for David to record, right, honey?”

 

The blonde man smiles at her. “It’s good to collect some impressions of the preparation for the tournament, and having the owner of the foundation interacting with the children is a great idea. Also, having my lovely wife here who is organizing the whole event is an even better bonus.” He briefly presses his lips to hers before lifting the camera to his shoulder again.

 

“David!” Mary Margaret hisses, her cheeks flushed, but it’s evident on her face she is enjoying the little affection from her man. It’s not difficult to miss the uneasiness on Killian’s face, though, at the possible implications that he is hosting this event for publicity reasons. But, everyone here knows better. Mary Margaret can see how everyone admires him for his good heart—even Emma who doesn't know him very well.

 

She’s just glad she’d decided to not set up Killian on a date after he’d mentioned her over the phone the other day, hoping Emma would come to the event. However, she has to admit she feels guilty about signing Emma up for the auction in hopes that Killian would become jealous and take matters into his own hands, but she has a feeling these two will find a way to each other's hearts, even if it takes a little persuasion.

### $*$*$

 

David films the interaction between Emma, Hook and the group for a while before Mary Margaret is off to go help with a problem somewhere else, taking David with her. Emma isn’t so sure there is an actual problem, but she would never call out her newfound friend, who also might be handy for her mission and for information about Hook. He and Robin have to leave a short time later, much to the dismay of the kids and Emma, although she would never admit that.

 

Emma tries to concentrate on her task, but her thoughts are already on the auction. She has no idea what to do or how to behave exactly. She isn’t even sure why she’d accepted Mary Margaret’s request. Was it to help her out? Was it to find a way of making Hook jealous? Robin’s comment makes her rethink the whole idea. She knows she already has a chance to have a date with Hook soon—all she has to do is say the word, but she’s starting to think whether signing up for the auction was a good idea or not. She hopes Hook will become jealous when he sees her with another man, but what if he doesn’t accept the challenge? What if he finds some other woman at dinner who demands his attention? And what will Milah really think about the whole situation? Emma wishes she could call her sister now for some advice.

 

She doesn’t want to make Milah angry with her decisions, but she also knows she has to make her own if she wants to be the lead in this game. Milah always knows what to do and how to make things happen, so why can’t Emma do it this time? Technically she’s already made her decision and now she has to live with the consequences. So why does this decision make her feel so nervous?

 

People are starting to arrive, so Emma suggests heading over to the clubhouse to eat something before the tournament starts. The kids start to hurry towards the clubhouse as Emma pushes Ryan’s wheelchair. He thanks her for the lovely day they’ve had so far, and Emma feels touched by his words; this is one thing she will never regret. Being with the kids, helping them and getting to know them better warms her heart. She cannot wait to watch the tournament, root for her group and enjoy the afternoon with them. She also hopes to gather some information about Hook while being here today, surrounded by people who know him better than she does.

  
While chewing on her grilled cheese sandwich, she tries to analyse her progress in seducing Hook. When she sees him chatting with a studious looking brunette, Emma pauses for a moment, suddenly remembering him asking her to be his date outside of Marco’s. Her mouth is still full when realization hits her hard. He won’t be alone at dinner. Emma is convinced Mary Margaret didn't allow him to show up alone, and has set this woman up as his date.

 

Emma’s stomach is in knots now, her appetite completely gone. She doesn’t want anyone else to be Killian’s date; _she_ wants to be his date. The moment the thought crosses her mind, all of the blood drains from her face, and she feels ill. What’s happening here? Is she really falling for her target? No, she only feels this way because she is afraid someone else will snatch him up and ruin the con. She shouldn't be worried though. She enjoys a little competition. She's had lots of practice stealing men from Milah—the woman they saw as their wife—so Emma's certainly not worried about some rich, snobby twat.

 

But just to be safe, Emma finishes her sandwich and passes the two, hoping Killian will see her. She keeps her eyes forward, but when he doesn't say anything, she looks in his direction. Killian hasn't even noticed her presence, he’s still talking to the brunette and smiling. Emma suddenly feels like she can't breathe, thinking she has lost him. But she chooses not to give up, so she boldly makes her way over to her future husband. His gaze finally peels away from the woman, and his lips twitch into a small smirk as she approaches.

 

“Killian, I just wanted to wish you good luck on the event; I know it will be a complete success,” Emma says sweetly as she curls both hands around his arm, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. Even with a quick, subtle gesture, she can hear his breath hitch at the contact.

 

“Thank you, love. I do hope so. And I'm glad you’re here.” He nods towards the woman in front of him, so Emma turns to face the brunette, looping her arm through his. “Emma, this is Regina Mills. She is the owner of the country club. Regina, this is Emma Swan. She is one of our volunteers for the day.”

 

Emma is relieved as she shakes the woman's hand with her free one. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

 

“You too,” Regina says, eyeing her suspiciously. “I haven't seen you around here. Are you new in town?”

 

“Yeah, I’m from Boston.”

 

Regina’s already high brows curve upward, expressing her curiosity. “Well, you’re a long way from home, then. What brings you here?”

 

“I just needed a fresh start,” Emma assures a bit nervously. She’s no longer worried about her being with Killian because she knows Regina is married to Robin, but this woman seems very intense, and Emma has an inkling she does not want to be on her bad side.

 

Regina’s eyes widen in realization. “Right, you’re the new member my son had mentioned.”

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Emma says with a polite smile.

 

“Alright, I think that’s enough interrogation, Regina,” Killian says a bit sternly. “We want her here, not to scare her off.”

 

Regina’s lips finally break out into a friendly smile. “My apologies, Miss Swan. Didn’t mean to pry. I’ll leave you to it. Again it was nice meeting you.” With those words said, she walks away leaving Emma with Killian as she keeps an eye on the children sitting at the table across the room.

 

“I’m sorry about her, love. She does that with all the newcomers.”

 

Emma swallows thickly, hoping this woman isn't someone she has to worry about ruining her plans, but she chooses to shrug it off. “It’s fine. I have nothing to hide,” she says, and Killian looks at her with a small smile.

 

“Oh, I think you do.”

 

Emma's eyes widen at that. Does he know what she's planning? _Shit!_ She's completely screwed! “You do?”

 

Killian nods with certainty, and Emma swallows thickly, bracing herself for the worst. “Aye, I think you prefer to be a bit reserved,” he concurs, wagging a flirty brow, “which is good because I do enjoy a little mystery.”

 

With a breath of relief, Emma is smiling uncontrollably and rolling her eyes. “That’s good because I’m not one to give away all of my secrets at once. Not that I care about what you enjoy.”

 

Unconvinced, Killian bites his bottom lip, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m not so sure about that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous when you came over here claiming me as yours.”

 

Emma blushes and tears her eyes away, watching the kids. “I was _not_ jealous.”

 

“Oh really? Then why can't you look me in the eye when you say it?” he teases.

 

Emma laughs and shakes her head, returning her gaze to him. “Not saying I was, but if I were, would that scare you away?”

 

Killian shrugs and looks like he has to mull over the possible answer for a moment before leaning in and whispering in her ear, “I’m not running, now am I?”

 

The sound of his deep, silky accent vibrates in her ear, shooting down her spine. She tilts her head slightly, just enough so her cheek brushes against the sharp stubble on his face and she whispers back, “Good, because maybe I _was_ a little jealous. You told me Mary Margaret was going to pressure you into procuring a date, so I thought Regina was her.”

 

“Well surprisingly, my agent let me off the hook this time,” Killian clarifies. “So, no date to speak of.”

 

Emma sighs in relief, never tearing her eyes from his. In all honesty, she enjoys being on his arm like this, enjoys the heat between them, but almost as soon as it’s there, they have to seperate.

 

“Killian, the ceremony is about to begin,” Mary Margaret informs him when she approaches with a soft smirk, seeing how close they are.

 

“I’m right behind you,” he assures his agent before reverting his soft, blue eyes to Emma, “but make no mistake… this is not me running away.” He pulls his arm away and lifts her hand to confirm his statement with a gentle kiss on the back of her knuckles, making Emma shudder, the entirety of her skin igniting with goosebumps. Killian steps back, his cheeks painted with blush as he slowly releases her hand and gets one last glimpse of her before turning and walking away.

 

Emma watches him, her mouth hung open, surprised she’s not a puddle of liquid on the floor right now.

 

The opening ceremony begins and Killian gives the audience a fantastic speech before the tournament. Emma easily sees he’d started the foundation out of the kindness of his heart and not for publicity. She can see it in his eyes when he speaks about these young people and how they have changed his life. Once again her conscience is gripped with guilt. How can she even think of ripping a man’s heart to pieces when his heart is so full of love and warmth and passion? But perhaps he is strong willed. Emma has a feeling this man can overcome anything. He’s an athlete and he wouldn’t be one of the best golfers in the world if he didn’t know how to handle his shit.

 

Emma guides the children to their position for the tee off when it's time for the tournament to begin. She's a bit nervous with the crowds and cameras, especially when she sees a spectator who keeps staring at her, uninterested in the children or how well they're playing, only _her._ He’s tall and lanky and dressed obnoxiously with a flat cap, a bright yellow polo shirt, an ugly sweater vest and plaid pants. Every time Emma moves to the next hole with the children, he is following and observing her. She starts to feel uneasy under his gaze, so instead, she keeps her focus on the children.

 

She listens to Hayley talking, when it’s not her turn, about Killian and how she thinks he may look depending on his voice and scent, his behavior around them and everything she’s heard about him so far. She smiles when Chelsea joins her, using signing and her interpreter to describe how he looks. She mentions he has pretty lips and is very handsome, and they both snicker to themselves. Emma really tries to concentrate on Charles, who’s trying to get the ball in the hole, but now she is too distracted by the words of the girls and their effect on her.

 

Before Emma had arrived at the tournament, she didn’t really expect to enjoy herself. Or at least she hadn’t expected to enjoy herself with the kids. But she has to admit, interacting with them and helping them has turned out to be very rewarding. In fact, by the end of the tournament, Emma is sad to say goodbye.

 

“Bye, Emma. Will we see you again?” Charles asks hopefully, and Emma smiles and nods her head.

 

“I hope so.” She watches as her group files into the bus, Ryan’s wheelchair being lifted into the back, and she waves at the other kids as they look out the windows and wave back at her.

 

“The children really like you, don’t they?” Mary Margaret’s voice is heard from behind, and Emma turns around holding a small smile.

 

“You think so? I know they have really grown on me,” Emma admits honestly, and it feels good to tell such a wonderful truth. “And they all did a fantastic job today.”

 

“Perhaps you would be a good fit as a volunteer at the activity center?”

 

“It’s certainly something to think about,” Emma replies, and she doesn’t think it’s such a bad idea. She really did enjoy working with the children, and there’s something pulling at her gut telling her she should back out of this whole thing, but she doesn’t want to. She wants to help these children and spend time with them, and she wants to get close to Killian and be a part of his life.

 

As they start walking towards the clubhouse, Emma sees the same man from earlier who is now chatting with another sponsor and is still watching her. She had earlier learned his name is Oscar and he was Chelsea's pledge; he had donated money to watch her play, which sickened Emma a bit, because the man is oozing with creepy vibrations.

 

“What's the deal with him?” Emma asks Mary Margaret as she makes a subtle gesture towards him.

 

“Oscar? Oh, don't pay attention to him. He’s a former PGA Player of the Year champion and jealous of Killian because he’s broken numerous golf records and has had more wins and more success. Oscar only showed up to this event to try and prove to Killian he is the better man, but no one actually buys his facade. He's only here hoping Killian will fail somehow, but he's severely delusional,” Mary Margaret shakes her head. “We only allowed him to attend because he promised to donate a considerable amount of money to the organization.”

 

“Ah, I see.” Emma studies him carefully as he walks away.

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of a shower and a change of clothes.”

 

“Me too,” Emma agrees. She is sweating from the heat, her clothes clinging to her skin, and she feels gross and certainly not prepared to stand on stage and attend a fancy dinner with rich folks.

 

When the two go inside, she is greeted by Henry in the lobby, and the big square gift box he’s holding, which is wrapped in a bright blue bow.

 

Arching a brow, Emma gapes at it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

 

“Not sure. I guess you’ll have to see for yourself,” Henry replies with a shrug. “But I’ll give you a hint—it’s from someone who was informed you were in need of an outfit for the evening.”

 

Eyeing the small envelope taped to the box, she very skittishly looks up and glances between Henry and Mary Margaret whose smiles are both dripping with mischief. Removing the card from the envelope, she reads the note.

 

_Swan,_

 

_You helped me with my attire for the evening, now I am helping you with yours. Hope you like the dress. See you tonight._

 

_—Killian Jones_

 

Emma blushes as she lifts her gaze, and sees the two still staring at her.

 

“See? I told you not to worry,” Mary Margaret says and comes over, linking her arm with Emma’s. “Now that we have that taken care of, let me show you to the locker rooms.”


	6. Playing the Hand You're Dealt With

_**~Rule #6: Adopt a consistent strategy. A key component to winning over your mark is to consistently apply a winning strategy no matter what obstacles are presented to you. It is not okay to suddenly to change things up. All of your learning, experience and study over the years has given you a body of knowledge telling you how to play this game successfully. But it only actually matters if you apply it every time. Elite players apply the same winning strategy over and over again, no matter what.~** _

 

Killian leaves the dressing room, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and heads for the Queen Room, which is a theater in the country club where the auction is being held. His stomach is in knots and he’s hoping Emma likes her dress; he’s hoping it fits her. That was the tricky part, but Mary Margaret had helped him pick it out and she normally—no, she _always—_ has good judgement when it comes to things like this. Again, he has no clue what he would do without her. Although, he's not so sure why she’d asked Emma to participate in the auction when the brunette knows him more than anyone. She knows Killian already has affections for the blonde; his agent is neither dumb nor blind.

 

In all honesty, part of him is hoping Emma has changed her mind about the auction, because he knows he will not be able to stomach seeing her being bid on and auctioned off by another man, especially Oscar Walsh. Killian had tried his best to be friendly to him and had generously invited him to this event, but he started regretting his decision the second the monkey set his sights on Emma. Killian has been nice to him thus far, but he's prepared to take action, even if the git decides to embarrass him at his own charity event.

 

Heading in the direction of the staircase, he straightens his tie for the hundredth time, trying to think about anything other than that monkey trying to put his paws on Emma. Killian starts to round a corner when he looks up again and catches something moving in his peripheral. He glances briefly in the direction of the movement and has to do a double take, halting dead in his tracks when his eyes are drawn to the shimmering gold of both her dress and hair at the top of the staircase.

 

To say he is lovestruck would be an understatement. His jaw is hanging open as he watches what appears to be an angel sent from heaven above. The sleeveless dress she's wearing has a sheer neckline and is sparkling with crystal sequins as she makes her way down the staircase. The gown is draping over the steps, so she gathers the fabric in her hands to keep herself from tripping, the side slit showing off one of her gorgeous legs.

 

Killian has never seen such beauty in all of his life, but somehow he forces himself to move towards the staircase, waiting with bated breath. As she descends, he gets a better glimpse of her. The top of her head is crowned with braids and the rest of her hair is curled loosely and bouncing with every step. She's donning an enchanting smile, her lips coated in a glossy pink, cheeks dusted with a hint of blush, flecks of gold flickering in her eyes, which are framed by her long black lashes.

 

Killian can't even breathe by the time she reaches him and steps down to his level with her gold stilettos clicking on the marble floor.

 

“You look absolutely stunning,” he breathes, his voice completely wrecked.

 

Emma smiles bashfully. “Thank you... for the compliment and the dress. It fits perfectly.”

 

Killian sighs in relief. “Good, I'm glad. It certainly looks like it fits nicely,” he notes with a smirk and a wag of his brow. The fit of the dress undeniably accentuates every curve exquisitely.

 

Emma blushes and laughs, gently slapping his chest. “Well the same goes for your tux. You look very dashing,” she compliments, running her fingers down the collar of his suit jacket, her eyes never leaving his.

 

Killian’s heart beat spikes under her hand, his cheeks heating up with blush. Gods, what he wouldn't give to kiss those luscious lips of hers. The scent of her perfume is intoxicating, wafting around him, and he wants to take her in his arms appreciating all of her perfections, but instead he has to step back and offer his arm to her. “Care to be escorted, love?”

 

“By you? I suppose,” she teases playfully, and the beautiful features of her face are glowing as she loops her arm in his, allowing him to lead the way.

### $*$*$

 

“It's been an amazing turnout, and so far we've raised over $300,000 dollars for the children,” Mary Margaret announces through the microphone from her podium, and the audience claps and cheers. “Now, it's time to meet the final bachelorette of the evening.”

 

Taking her cue, Emma walks out on stage, smiling and waving to the audience, her stomach full of butterflies.

 

“Emma Swan is new to Palm Beach and is one of the volunteers for this event. She also works at Marco’s Italian Tuxedos, so gentlemen, if you're in need of a tailor, she’s your lady.”

 

Emma hears a few wolf whistles from the audience and looks around to see who her potential escort will be. There are a few familiar faces, but no one to get excited over. None of them are Killian.

 

Scanning the room, she searches for the handsome golfer, but she doesn't see him.

 

“The bidding will start at $1,000. Do I hear $1,000?” Mary Margaret asks through the mic.

 

A flurry of number paddles shoot up, and Emma's stomach starts doing flips. Why exactly did she agree to do this again?

 

“$1500,” calls one of the men.

 

“We have $1500. Do I hear $2,000? Great, do I hear $2500?”

 

Emma continues to look around, and when she hears, “5,000,” her eyes follow the voice, and her stomach plummets when she sees who is holding up the paddle—it’s Oscar.

 

“We have $5,000. Do I hear $5500?”

 

“$6,000,” calls another man, but before she can take a breath of relief, Oscar retaliates with “$7,000,” and soon the two are going back and forth. She keeps the fake smile plastered on her face because she’s inwardly cringing and hoping Oscar doesn't outbid the other guy.

 

“$20,000,” he calls out, and she can see the other man lower his paddle, a look of defeat on his face.

 

“$20,000, going once, going twice…”

 

Emma's heart stops, her face going white. _God, please help me,_ she prays, screwing her eyes shut.

 

“$100,000,” comes a voice from the back of the room—a very familiar voice.

 

Emma's eyes fly open, and she hears a few gasps from the audience and sees heads turning to where the voice had come from. Everyone is in shock when he starts walking towards the stage.

 

“$100,000 going once, going twice. Congratulations to Hook Jones himself!” Mary Margaret announces quickly with a surprised smile. “You’ve won a date with our lovely bachelorette, Miss Emma Swan!”

 

Everyone is clapping and whistling, except for Oscar, who looks like he is about to burst with anger. Emma is sighing in utter relief, also in complete awe because everything had happened so fast, and she can't believe Killian bid on her. It's his event after all.

 

Making her way down the steps towards him, she once again sees him dressed in the incredible tux she had perfectly tailored just for him and the toned body he is hiding underneath. He is also wearing the crisp white shirt, black tie and vest she had helped him pick out. Good lord he is gorgeous.

 

Mary Margaret is speaking about what is planned for the rest of the evening, but Emma's incapable of paying attention to her or anything else.

 

“Hi,” she breathes when she is close enough for him to hear; she is amazed she's able to utter any sound at all.

 

“Hi,” Killian murmurs and extends his hand, a sheepish smirk tugging at his lips. Emma smiles at him, easily getting lost in those sea blue eyes as she slips her left hand into Killian’s right one and allows him to help her down the last couple of steps. She knows everyone is staring at them, but she really doesn't care. Killian releases her hand and wraps his arm around her back, which is exposed by the dress, his fingers dancing across her skin before curling around her hip.

 

They start to make their way across the room, but are abruptly interrupted by Oscar as he stands in front of them. Emma leans into Killian’s side, wrapping her arm around him as well, and places her hand on his chest, fingers gently gripping his tie (just in case there is any question she is Killian’s for the night).

 

“Well, well, well,” Oscar taunts, looking Killian up and down; he's clearly had too much wine. “You think you’re mister big shot, huh? First you steal my championship title and then you steal my date at your own auction? That's real rich.”

 

“I am _not_ yours,” Emma replies quickly, gritting her teeth.

 

“Excuse me, sweetcakes, but I was not talking to you. This is between me and him,” Oscar spats, poking Killian roughly in the chest.

 

Emma looks over at Killian and sees his jaw clench, his fingers tightening around her hip. “Sorry, Walsh, but I won a date with her fair and square, just like I win every tournament. Now, if you'll please excuse us, we’d like to get on with our evening,” he says politely, but as they start to move around Oscar, Emma is pretty certain Killian is holding himself back from clocking the other man in the face.

 

“Where the hell do you think you're going? We have a score to settle!” Oscar shoves Killian away from Emma, and she can see the anger and irritation building in his eyes. He continues to ignore Walsh and tries once again to leave, taking Emma's hand and moving around Oscar. “Oh sure, just run away like the coward you are!” This time, he shoves Killian so he hard from behind, he's knocked to the floor.

 

There are many gasps, and Emma's eyes widen in concern as she kneels down to help Killian up. Mary Margaret, David and a few others rush over to make sure he’s okay as two security officers appear in the room and quickly make their way over.

 

Killian takes Emma's hand using her as an anchor and stands up as she wipes off the back of his jacket, straightening out the fabric. “Security, please have this man escorted from the premises,” he orders, turning his gaze to Emma and threading his fingers though hers before they both walk away.

 

Oscar shouts more obscenities, but Killian and Emma ignore him as the security guards grab him, taking him towards the exit doors.

 

“I'm deeply sorry about him,” Killian apologizes quietly when they reach the lobby, regret flashing in his eyes as he looks over at her. “I should have never invited him. I was only hoping bygones would be bygones, but obviously it was a huge mistake.”

  
Emma stops and turns to him, raising her free hand and caressing his cheek as she looks into his eyes. “It’s okay. You are forgiving and generous, and he only wishes he could be like you,” she assures him.

 

He offers a frail smile, gazing at her sheepishly. “Thank you, love,” he says softly.

 

They head up the large staircase to the upper floor, finally reaching the entrance of the ballroom. It’s filled with neutral colors—chocolate Hyatt curtains and beige walls—and warm lighting illuminating from the elaborate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Each round table is covered with a champagne colored tablecloth, matching napkins, shiny silverware and sparkling champagne flutes arranged neatly around a large vase full of freshly cut white and pink Dahlias.

 

And even though the invitations didn't require formal attire, all of the women are wearing evening gowns and fine jewels while most of the men are dressed in dinner jackets with black ties.

 

Walking towards a table across the room, Emma takes in the view, trying to forget about Oscar and his inappropriate actions. Thankfully, with Killian’s fingers entwined in hers, his thumb rubbing gentle circles around her knuckles, it’s difficult to think about anything other than how good his fingers feel linked with hers and the way her breath quivers with every gentle stroke of his thumb.

 

Killian pulls out a seat for her like a gentleman, something she’s not accustomed to, and she sits down scooting her chair closer to the table. “Thank you. I'm not used this kind of treatment—men buying me dresses, escorting me, opening doors and pulling out chairs for me,” she confesses as he sits across from her. “Is this what dates are supposed to be like?”

 

Killian chuckles as he takes her hands in his over the table. “This is only a taste. There’s plenty more where it all came from. Besides, I'm surprised you even consider this a date. Don't you have a rule about not dating?”

 

Emma shrugs as she rubs her thumbs over his knuckles, blush creeping into her cheeks. “I did, but… that's just because I've never actually been on one before.”

 

Killian appears to be dumbfounded by this revelation. “You've never been on a single date?”

 

Emma shakes her head. “No, I told you before, I don't date.”

 

“Aye, you did, but I thought you meant you don’t date, as in you’ve never been in a relationship _,_ not that you’ve never been on one at all.”

 

The waiter comes to greet them in a French accent, handing them menus and taking their drink orders. Killian and Emma agree on chardonnay and ask for a bottle of it. After the waiter leaves, Emma continues on with the conversation to explain her reasons for not dating.

 

“I've just never been interested in going on dates,” Emma states, and she's normally not one to admit this to any man she’s ever conned, fear that this information would send them running in the other direction. But being honest with Killian feels oddly comforting.

 

“And why's that, if you don't mind me asking?”

 

Emma shrugs as she peruses the menu. “Maybe I'm just afraid of getting hurt. I've always been an orphan, so I've just convinced myself no one wants me; my parents dumped me on the side of the road like used garbage and I lost the one foster mother I ever had, so maybe that's tainted my views about everything else a bit, including my love life, or lack thereof.” Emma glances up at him and loses a breath when his eyes darken and she sees the tortured soul inside of him as he takes her hands in his again.

 

“Sorry, love. I too know what it's like to be an orphan. I lost everyone I loved when I was a young lad.”

 

Emma already has knowledge of this, but hearing it coming from his mouth makes her heart hurt, more than it did the first time she discovered this information. “That’s awful.” She squeezes his hand, and takes a deep breath, regret shown in her features as she looks down at their joined hands. “No, I should be the one who is sorry. This is not really first date conversation,” Emma says with a weak laugh.

 

A small smile pulls at his lips. “You might be right. And since this is your first date, we shall make the most of it.” Killian stands from his chair and extends his hand to her as Emma looks up at him, confused. “Would you dance with me, Emma?”

 

She looks around the ballroom. There's a dance floor and a string quartet playing, but everyone is sitting at their tables eating.

 

“But there's no one else dancing.”

 

“Then we’ll be the first.”

 

“But I don't know how to dance.”

 

“You don't need to. All you need is a little rhythm and a partner who knows what he's doing,” he says, quirking a flirty brow. “Any other reasons not to dance?” he asks with a laugh.

 

Emma shakes her head, smiling bashfully. “With you? Not a one.” She takes his hand and stands up following him to the center of the room.

 

Killian turns to her and pulls her to him, sliding his right palm into her left one, wrapping his other arm around her waist and placing his hand on her back. Emma’s free one is resting on his shoulder as she turns her head, seeing everyone watching them. It's making her nervous, so she moves her gaze to Killian instead, her breath catching when her eyes connect with his ocean blue ones.

 

They start to move and Emma's heart is pounding, stomach tightening as Killian glides her around dance floor like Fred Astaire. The smooth melody of the harp pervading the room has a calming effect, and she quickly forgets about everyone in the room when his fingers move to her hip and he raises their linked hands, spinning her around and pulling her back to him.

 

Emma laughs because, one, she is enjoying herself, even when they're no longer dancing alone, seeing as people are starting to filter onto the dance floor, and two she has to ask him, “Where did you learn to dance like this?”

 

“I took ballroom dancing lessons when I was a teenager. I like to be better at more than just golf,” he chuckles. “And the skills I learned turned out to be quite useful, considering I attend a lot of these types of functions.”

 

Emma nods in understanding. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

 

Killian pulls her in closer, wrapping his arms around her waist as they continue to move to the music. “And now those lessons are definitely paying off because it would be a shame to let your dress go to waste.”

 

Emma blushes and smiles. “Well, thank you again,” she murmurs, “for the attire, and for rescuing me from that creep.”

 

“Of course, love. You think I'd let some other man get the opportunity to spend a wonderful evening with you and enjoy the dress I got for you? Not on my watch.”

 

“Ah, so you did buy this dress with the intention of being the one who gets to enjoy it?” she teases playfully.

 

Killian’s cheeks are tainted with blush as he leans in closer. “If I did, would that scare you away?”

 

Emma stares into his eyes, not even taking a breath. “I’m not running, now am I?” Her eyes fall to his mouth and she’s dying to kiss those wonderful looking lips. She’s pulled in like a magnet, her gaze fleeting to his eyes again to see whether he's feeling the same intensity she is.

 

_Oh, he definitely is._

 

Eyeing his lips again, she moves in, her heart hammering in her chest; their lips are ghosting over the other almost touching as she closes her eyes, desperately needing to feel those lips on hers.

 

“You two look like you're enjoying your date?” Mary Margaret's words cause them to jump and pull away, and Emma's eyes snap open, looking to see the Nolan couple dancing next to them. Mary Margaret's eyes flash with apology when she sees the flushed looks on their faces. “Oh, I didn't interrupt anything, did I?”

 

Emma sighs in relief because _what was she thinking trying to kiss him on the lips?_ “No, not all,” she assures at the same time Killian grumbles a “Yes,” under his breath.

 

“Sorry, we just wanted to see how you two were getting along.”

 

Killian flashes Mary Margaret a smile. “We’re certainly getting along,” he chuckles, pulling Emma closer to his body, their eyes glancing at each other before landing on the Nolans again.

 

“That's great. I also wanted to congratulate you. The foundation has raised $400,000.”

 

“Thank you, love, but again I would not have been able to pull this event off without your help.”

 

Mary Margaret smiles exuberantly and shrugs her shoulders. “I know.”

 

“She is incredible at everything she does,” David adds, grinning at his wife as she stares back him with googly eyes.

 

“Thank you, sweetheart. You're not so bad yourself.”

 

David kisses Mary Margaret, and Emma and Killian turn their attention to one another to give them a moment, not wanting to intrude. And if Emma's being honest, she's jealous they get to kiss when she and Killian lost their opportunity to because of them. But she shouldn't be thinking like this. Killian is only another mark to her, or at least that's what she keeps having to convince herself.

 

“So, there's another reason why we came over here,” David says when he releases his wife's lips.

 

Killian looks at him with a questioning brow. “You mean other than playing kissy face with each other,” he teases with a laugh.

 

David blushes. “Actually, I was hoping to get to know Emma more. Mind if we switch partners for a moment?”

 

Killian and Emma exchange looks at the question, and she nods in approval. “Alright, but only as long as you don't try to kiss her, too. I have a lot invested in this one,” he teases David.

 

“$100,000 plus the cost of the dress and shoes to be exact,” Mary Margaret clarifies.

 

“Aye, that's all,” Killian agrees, but Emma knows he’s referring to more than the money—it's written all over his handsome face.

 

“You have my word,” David reassures with a laugh.

 

They switch dance partners and the couples head in opposite directions on the dance floor.

 

When Emma and David start dancing, she’s not sure what to say as he studies her, a bit more serious than before.

 

“Look, Emma… Killian’s like a brother to me,” he informs, and Emma has a feeling she knows where this is going. The man does seem like the protective type after all. “And I don’t want to see him get hurt, so if your intentions aren't pure…”

 

Emma glares at him, offended. “You don't even know me, and you're accusing me of what exactly?”

 

“I'm not accusing you of anything.”

 

“No, you're only trying to threaten me,” she snaps back.

 

“Emma, I'm only saying if you’re planning on breaking his heart, think again. I've seen too many women go after him for his money and looks, and he deserves much more than that. He's a good man, and my wife and I only want the best for him.”

 

“I only want that too,” Emma assures softly. “I'm not those other women. Even the blind girl, Hayley, can see what an incredible guy he is.”

 

“And that's exactly why people think it's so easy to take advantage of him.”

 

Emma looks at the blonde man dead in the eyes, swallowing thickly. She shouldn't be intimidated, but she is. She wants the people who are close to Killian to like her. So it's absolutely vital she doesn't screw this up. “Listen David, I don't plan on hurting him. He'd have to break my heart first before that would happen. Good men are hard to find, so really it would be my loss to let a guy like him slip through my fingers.”

 

David seems to accept her words because his lips crack into a soft smile. “Yes, it would be.”

 

Emma smiles back at him, but she’s cringing because what she’d said to David is true—Killian has turned out to be a great guy—and she doesn't want to hurt him, but she can’t back out now. Her heart is leading the way, and besides, Emma’s already sworn up and down she can do this, so she's not about to let Milah down.

### $*$*$

 

“So, you think Dave is giving her the big brother speech?” Killian asks, a bit worried and unable to take his eyes off of Emma and his friend.

 

“He definitely is. He’s got the intimidating glare down pat.”

 

Killian starts to break away from his dance partner, but she pulls on his arm, stopping him.

 

“Killian, don't worry; if Emma's who we think she is, she won’t bat an eye. By the looks of it, she's not threatened, so that's a good sign, right?”

 

He relents with a sigh, averting his eyes back to Mary Margaret. “Look, I know he’s looking out for me, but…”

 

“But he has nothing to worry about? We don't know that for certain, but I do hope she is who she seems.”

 

Killian nods as he sees Emma smiling, her pearly whites showing between her lips, and he feels a tug at his own lips. “They seem to be getting along, now,” he points out when even David is grinning and chatting without a care in the world.

 

“See? I told you. Emma’s not running, and everything's fine.”

 

Killian tears his eyes away from Emma, meeting his agent’s gaze. “Aye, but you can't blame me for not wanting to intervene. Remember the last time he tried having the _Killian’s like a brother to me_ speech?”

 

Mary Margaret laughs at that. “Yeah, the woman was so scared, she literally ran out of the bar like her hair was on fire.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But Emma's not her.”

 

Killian smirks, reverting his gaze to Emma. “She's certainly not,” he murmurs, transfixed by her. He has to pull his mind back to reality, and rips his eyes away, returning his attention to Mary Margaret. “Oh, by the way, can I ask you why you asked Emma to participate in the auction?”

 

“Because we needed another bachelorette, and she’s new in town, so I thought she'd be a good fit.”

 

“But you know I like her, right?”

 

“I know, Killian, and that's why I didn't find you a date for the evening,” she admits, and a mischievous grin graces her features. “To be honest, I didn't think about the consequences of asking her, it was really my way of seeing if she was single or not.”

 

Killian smiles shyly, blush creeping into his cheeks. “I knew there was a reasonable explanation behind your motives. There always is.”

 

Mary Margaret grins like a Cheshire cat, unashamed.“You know me too well, Jones. Now, what do you say we get our dates back?”

 

Killian is more than enthusiastic at the thought of dancing with her again, and he and his agent break apart, going to Emma and David to dance some more.

### $*$*$

 

“I haven't seen her before. Another gold digger, perhaps?”

 

Regina shrugs as she glares at Emma, who is dancing with Killian across the room, both of them smiling and chatting. The sexual tension is so thick between them, one could cut it with a knife. “Not sure, but I'm willing to bet she is. She already has Hook wrapped around her dainty little finger.” Regina is beyond suspicious about the blonde. She doesn't know how someone so new to this town just waltzes in, magically loved and welcomed by everyone, especially by Killian after his track record. And to think, he bought her at his own auction after outbidding Walsh. What is the big deal about her anyway? “The Charmings seem to be taken with her too.”

 

“Want me to look into it?” Sydney inquires, as though reading her thoughts. It’s not the first time Regina has needed a favor from him. He’s a freelance reporter and is always good at digging up dirt on people.

 

Regina grins devilishly. “You know me too well.”

 

Sydney chuckles as he spins her around, bringing her back to him. “We've known each other for years, darling, and I know that look on your face when you're conspiring.”

 

Regina doesn't even attempt to protest. “I saw her on the green with the children, and how Robin was getting along with her. All of them were chatting and joking around, and I don't like it. I have spent years gaining these people’s trust; I have spent years building this golf course, making it what it is.”

 

“And these people not only trust you, but they adore you. You really think a children's volunteer is going to change that?”

 

“Of course not. But still, I don't trust Miss Swan, and I want to make sure she's not up to anything.” Regina's gaze returns to Emma, who looks awfully cozy with the golfer, both embraced in each other’s arms as they dance to the slow beat filling the ballroom. “I wouldn't want anything to throw Killian off his game, he is our most valuable member. People from all around the country come to play here just so they can say they played where Hook spends most of his time outside the tour.”

 

“I agree.” When Regina’s eyes revert to Sydney, he’s nodding compliantly. “Don't worry, I'm on it,” he assures.

 

Another grin creeps across her lips. “I know you are.”

 

“Excuse me, Sydney. May I have my wife back?” comes Robin’s voice from behind the reporter.

 

“Of course.” Sydney steps aside and Robin cuts in, taking his wife's hand, his other one sliding around her waist.

 

“My lovely wife doesn't have anything up her sleeve does she?” he asks, his smile and eyes tainted with suspicion.

 

“Of course not,” Regenia answers defensively. “We were just talking numbers. We've had quite a big turnout today.”

 

“Uh huh, and you know I don't believe you, right? Whenever you talk to Sydney it's more often than not because you need a favor.” Robin leans in speaking more quietly. “Plus I could see you throwing fireballs at Miss Emma over there.”

 

An innocent smile takes over Regina’s lips, and she shakes her head, leaning in to place a kiss on his lips, nuzzling his nose with hers. “I'm not up to anything, don't you worry.”

 

Robin narrows his eyes, unconvinced as he pulls away. “Why is that anything but reassuring?”

 

She lets out a small laugh. “Because I always have something up my sleeve. But I'm only looking out for your friend.”

 

Robin arches a brow in suspicion. “You're not having Sidney run a background check on her, are you?”

 

Regina doesn't deny it, and Robin sighs.

 

“Gina, the woman is absolutely harmless, and Killian is really taken with her. He won’t be so happy when he finds out.”

 

Regina bites her bottom lip as she runs her hands up her husband’s chest, curling her fingers around the lapels of his suit jacket. Robin is loyal to his friend, but he's even more so to her. He's always been able to put her needs first; he usually only needs a bit of persuasion. “That's why he's not going to,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and capturing his lips.

 

“Regina,” he says, looking at her sternly. “You know kissing me isn't going to make me forget.”

 

Regina bats her lashes, feigning innocence. “I'm not trying to make you forget. I just want to kiss my husband. Is that a crime?”

 

Robin chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s not,” he answers, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “Just give Emma a chance, okay? Killian really likes her and I don't want to interfere with that.”

 

“ _You_ don't have to.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Regina expels a long sigh. “Fine, I'll tell Sydney to call off the check.”

 

Robin smiles, releasing her hand and caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”

 

Gracing him with a delicate smile, she coos, “Anything for you, my darling,” before he pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

 

She rests her head on his shoulder, looking at Emma again, and knows she will not be able to put her mind at ease until she finds out who this Swan woman really is.

 

No, she can’t tell Sydney to forget what she'd asked him to do. She has an odd feeling in her gut about this woman. And her intuition is normally spot on.

### $*$*$

 

“So, how long have you been working with kids?” Killian asks curiously at his and Emma's table. Her stomach had started growling after dancing so much, and they’d returned to their seats to order their entrees.

 

“Well, if you want to know the truth, I haven't before today. But I wanted to do some volunteer work; low and behold I meet Mary Margaret, and the opportunity presented itself. And it turns out I love working with them.”

 

Killian is shocked by this. By how well she connected with them, he thought for sure she had many years of experience. “I never would've guessed. You're a natural.”

 

Emma shrugs, a smug smile gracing her lips. “What can I say? I know how to adapt.”

 

“Aye, it seems so,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his chardonnay.

 

They keep the conversation light, chatting about the tournament and the kids, eating and slowly sipping their drinks.

 

When the evening nears it’s inevitable end, it’s almost two in the morning, but Killian’s not ready to say goodbye. He knows he has to, though. “Did you drive here, love?”

 

Emma answers with a nod as they stand from their table.

 

“Allow me to walk you to your car then?”

 

“I'm okay with that,” she smiles and takes his offered arm as they say goodbye to everyone and make their way to the exit, heading downstairs.

 

Killian opens the door for her and they step out into the night, both gazing up at the stars as he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over Emma's shoulders.

 

“Thank you.” She smiles at him appreciatively, grabbing the lapels to secure it in place.

 

“You're welcome, love.” From behind her, he runs his hands up and down her covered arms as the valet pulls up with Emma's car. Killian takes her hand, urging her to turn and face him, which she does, and he sucks in a deep, shaky breath. “Emma, will you go on a date with me?”

 

Arching a brow, she eyes him in confusion. “Wasn't that what this was?”

 

Killian shakes his head. “I had to buy your time, so I wouldn't consider that an actual date. Besides, since you've never been on one, I want your first to be special.” He takes her hands in his, rubbing her thumbs. “I leave for Ohio in two days for the tour, and before I go, I'd like to see you again.”

 

“So, you want one night with me and then you're leaving?” Emma asks with narrowed eyes.

 

“No, of course not. I’m not that kind of guy, Emma. I want nothing more than to see you when I get back, but I'm asking you before I go to let me take you on a real date. Please. I want to show you what you've been missing out on. And after the night’s over with, if you decide dating still isn't your thing, then I won't ask again.”

 

Emma purses her lips in contemplation, stepping closer to him. “That's a reasonable proposition.”

 

A smile curves his lips, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer, his voice laced with hope. “Does that mean you'll accept?”

 

Emma doesn't respond for what feels like an eternity; she only stares at him, worrying her bottom lip, which he finds incredibly sexy. Finally, she nods and offers a smile. “Yes, I accept.”

 

He is inwardly jumping up and down with excitement and outwardly grinning from ear to ear. “Can I pick you up tomorrow at five?” he asks a little too enthusiastically, eyes dancing in anticipation.

 

Her eyes flash with worry at the suggestion, and she has to ponder the question for a few seconds. “Actually, can I meet you somewhere? It’s just…” her cheeks fill with blush as she looks down at the ground, a trace of a smile threatening her lips, “I'm still unpacking so I'm kind of embarrassed about how my place looks right now.”

 

Killian grins, his thumb gently caressing her cheek, his tone soothing as he responds. “I would never judge, but if you feel more comfortable, then meet me at the marina.”

 

Emma peers up, raising a brow at that, her green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “The marina? I thought this was supposed to be special?”

 

Killian chuckles and lifts her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “It will be. Just trust me.”

 

“So, should I wear a dress or a bathing suit?” Emma laughs.

 

He grins broadly, blushing profusely from picturing her in the latter. “Well, as much as I'd like to see you in a swimsuit, a dress will do.”

 

“Okay, then it's a date.”

 

Killian’s heart flutters at those wonderful words, and his eyes fall to her lips, aching to feel them pressed against his. “Does that mean I have to wait until then for a goodnight kiss?”

 

Emma lifts her hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing the scruff on his face, a small smile on her lips. He thinks she might kiss him before she leans in, murmuring, “Yes, you do.” She pulls away, blushing, and starts to walk around to the driver side of the vehicle, flashing a wicked smirk. “Guess you didn't think about it all the way through when you said this wasn't a date.”

 

Killian chuckles and quickly follows behind her, opening the door for her. “No, I didn't. But that's okay. It's one more thing to look forward to.”

 

Emma tries to give him his jacket back, but he tells her she can return it the next time they see each other. She gets in the car and he closes the door as she starts the engine, rolling down the window and looking over at him. “Congratulations again on the turn out,” she praises sincerely.

 

“Thank you, love.”

 

Emma smiles, her eyes soft and buzzing with promise in the moonlight. “You're welcome. ‘Night, Kilian.”

 

“Goodnight, Emma.”

 

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he watches as she drives away, still able to smell her perfume and feel the touch of her soft fingers on his cheek.

 

Gods above, he's already falling head over heels for this woman.


	7. Holding the High Card

**_~_ ** **_Rule #7: Keep him at bay. On your first date, don't wear anything too revealing, remain interested yet aloof and never give him more than a peck on the cheek; leave him begging for more. A little mystery drives a man wild.~_**

 

“You came home late last night.” Milah folds her arms, scolding her sister as Emma joins her at the breakfast table, clutching a hot cup of coffee.

 

There's a drowsy smile on her face as she takes a slow sip of the hot beverage, but apparently Milah is intent on ruining the moment by treating her like a two year old child. She’s staring at Emma with those stern _mom_ eyes, raising a brow. “You didn't sleep with him, did you? Because you know that is strictly against the—”

 

“No, of course not!” Emma cries out, defensively. “We were dancing and eating dinner at the country club, that's all.”

 

Milah’s expression changes into something more relaxed. “So things are going well, then?” she asks before sipping her orange juice.

 

“That's what I've been trying to tell you. I helped with the kids during the tournament and then I entered the date auction to make Hook jealous.”

 

“And it worked, no doubt?”

 

Emma nods her reassurance. “Like a charm. One of Hook’s rivals bid on me and almost won before Hook stepped in and completely outbid him.”

 

To Emma’s relief, Milah smiles with pride. “That's great, Em.”

 

Emma unveils more details of last night as Milah constantly questions her decisions.

 

_“You told him you've never worked with kids?!”_

 

_“What did you say after David questioned your motives?”_

 

_“Do we have to worry about this Nolan guy?”_

 

Emma answers the best she can, hoping to ease her sister’s worries. “These people are nice and friendly, and they only care about Hook, but they know they can trust me.”

 

Milah crosses her arms, furrowing her brows. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I'm sure. David and I were best friends by the end of the night.”

 

“Okay, good,” Milah sighs in relief. “So, what's next?”

 

“Well, Hook asked me out on a date—a real date—and I said yes this time.”

 

Milah nods in approval. “And do you know where to?”

 

“All I know is he wants me to meet him at the Marina.”

 

“Oooh, so he’s taking you out on his yacht? How romantic,” Milah beams, her eyes dancing with excitement.

 

“Oh,” Emma utters, feeling stupid. She doesn't know why on earth she hadn’t thought of that sooner. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He's taking me tonight before he leaves for Ohio tomorrow.”

 

“That's a good sign. He wants to see you before he leaves. Don't forget—only a kiss on the cheek to—”

 

“To keep him wanting more, I know,” Emma finishes, rolling her eyes. “This isn't my first rodeo.”

 

“True, but you're used to watching the action from the stands. This is your first time riding the bull,” Milah reminds her, “but not literally, of course…” she warns sternly, pointing at her, and Emma blushes at the thought of riding Killian, and— _no!_ She can not think about that… as much fun as Emma knows it would be. She shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly to rid the thoughts. “So, do you know what you’re wearing?” Milah asks, her eyes once again buzzing with excitement.

 

Emma laughs at her sister’s enthusiasm. “No, not yet.”

 

“That's okay, we are going shopping,” Milah chants, clapping her hands.

### $*$*$

 

Emma is cursing herself when she pulls up at the marina as the last traces of daylight make way for the warm, evening air. Her stomach is swarming and tightening with knots, and she inhales a deep breath when she gets out of the vehicle. Her hands are shaking as she tries to hold onto the small clutch in her hand. Why hadn't she just listened to her sister?

 

Emma had enjoyed their shopping trip outside of Palm Beach and she had picked out a dress they were both sure would blow Killian away (without looking like a cheap hooker), but Milah had absolutely insisted she _not_ shave her legs.

 

 _If you feel like a hairy gorilla you won’t even be tempted to have sex with Hook,_ Milah had stated while she was pinning up Emma’s hair.

 

She still can’t understand why Milah was so worried, especially when Emma is only allowed to kiss him on the cheek, for the first date anyway. So, of course, Emma hadn’t listened and she ended up shaving because she’d feel too icky with hairy legs. Plus, the dress is long—it's a casual, yet formal off the shoulder white and pink floral dress—but it has a high slit, and Emma hates wearing panty hose. So even with sex off the table, there’s still the chance of Killian placing a hand on her knee, and she doesn’t want to take the risk of assuming he would absolutely not be going near her bare legs.

 

_“You didn’t shave your legs, right?” Milah questions, planting her hands on her hips and offering her stern, mom glare as Emma pulls on her black high heels. Her lips are coated in red liquid lipstick per Milah’s request, to ensure Emma won’t be tempted to kiss him (unless she wants it to look like she vampired her date), her dress displays some skin without showing too much, and she’s wearing a pair of cute thongs with penguins on them, a pair she would never want a potential lover to see, but there is no way in hell she is going on this date with unshaven legs._

 

_“No, of course I didn't,” she fibs. Once she gets the stilettos on, Milah hands Emma her shawl and clutch._

 

_“Good, because we wouldn't want you to even be tempted to engage in anything more than a kiss on the cheek."_

 

_Emma sighs and rolls her eyes, tilting her head. “You wanna feel up my legs for proof? While you’re at it you can frisk me too, to make sure I’m not wearing sexy lingerie under the dress instead of granny panties.”_

 

_Milah flashes a sarcastic smirk, throwing the shawl around Emma’s shoulders and securing it in place. “That’s okay, I’ll take your word for it.”_

 

_Emma shrugs. “Probably a good thing,” she begins, gracing her sister with a devilish smirk as she grabs her keys from the small end table next to the sofa, “cause I’m not wearing anything under the dress.”_

 

Milah throws her a deadly stare, tightening her jaw, and Emma laughs and shakes her head. “I’m messing with you, jeez.” She turns around, opening the door as she looks back at Milah. “I’m wearing a garter belt, so Hook at least has something to pull off of me,” she teases, clutching onto the knob as she starts to step out of the apartment, but not without casually adding, “or to leave on and grab onto—whichever he prefers.” With that, Emma moves quickly, shutting the door behind her before Milah has a chance to throw something at her.

 

As soon as Emma sees him, she immediately regrets her decision. This man is hot and dripping with sex, it’s really unfair. He’s wearing a burgundy waistcoat and a black shirt, exposing a provocative amount of chest hair, and a pair of black dress pants. His hair is artfully mused, and Emma’s thinking about all the things she wants to do to him. His thick, dark hair would be great for pulling, his bottom lip looks soft enough to kiss and bite, that vest looks somewhat difficult to get off (but possible), and those pants would look even better dropped around his ankles.

 

Her musings are quickly interrupted when he approaches, and her eyes snap to his face, catching the smoldering smirk plastered on his lips. He lifts a brow, his eyes spanning up and down her body at least three times, taking in everything she’s offering him without shame. She’s glad she’s not the only one appreciating the view in front of them.

 

“You look absolutely ravishing, Emma,” he says sincerely, taking her hand and placing a prolonged kiss to her skin.

 

Emma melts at the contact; his lips feel as soft as they look, and she’s reconsidering the possibility of him seeing her penguin panties. “And you look very handsome.” Emma blushes, feeling the tingling sensation still lingering on the spot he’d kissed; her entire body is alight from the warmness of his lips.

 

“Thank you, love.” Killian’s smiling shyly as he moves his other hand from behind his back, presenting her with a bouquet of freshly cut pink, purple and white roses.

 

Emma graces him with a soft smile and takes the flowers. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome, love,” he murmurs, offering a wink and his arm. “Our table’s waiting for us. Shall we?”

 

Emma wraps her fingers around his arm and lets him lead the way towards the pier as she lifts the roses to her nose, smelling them appreciatively. “The roses are beautiful.”

 

“Aye, they are, but they don't hold a candle to you.”

 

Emma laughs. “Do you always use that line on women you date?”

 

“Are you implying that we're dating now?” Killian asks with a subtle smirk as those damn blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight.

 

“There you go again, avoiding an answer by replying to my question with another question,” Emma teases, rolling her eyes.

 

Killian shrugs casually, “And there you go again, pointing out my quirks just to avoid answering _my_ questions.”

 

“Well, we could go at this all night, so I will answer your question—I thought the agreement was if dating is still not my thing by the end of the night, I don’t have to go on another one with you.”

 

“I don’t recall using those words exactly. I said I wouldn’t ask you again,” he clarifies with a flirty lift of his brow. “Doesn’t mean you can’t still ask me.”

 

Emma laughs, her cheeks flushing with red. “You are nothing if not persistent.”

 

“That I am,” he agrees proudly.

 

Emma shakes her head and can't stop the blossoming smile from gracing her lips. “I’ll tell you what, if you play your cards right, the possibilities are endless,” she promises, running her free hand over his chest.

 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, his cheeks painted with blush.

 

As they near the water, Emma’s pretty certain they’ll be going into one of the restaurants around the area because as her eyes fall over the variety of moored boats and yachts, his is nowhere to be seen.

 

“Here’s our table.”

 

Apparently she's not looking in the right direction because when she lifts her gaze, following his line of sight, her eyes land on his yacht.

 

Her mouth falls open in awe as she watches the majestic vessel glide across the water. She’s seen it before in broad daylight, but she hasn't seen it at night all lit up, blue lights from the bottom of the boat illuminating the surface of the water.

 

“This is where we’ll be eating?”

 

“Aye, just the two of us.”

 

They step aboard when the yacht reaches the dock, and Killian leads her to the cockpit where there's a dark haired man at the controls. “Emma, this is Smee. He will be navigating the yacht this evening.”

 

“Nice to meet you, m'lady,” he greets politely, his voice big and hearty as he shakes her hand. He's even dressed in a white Naval uniform, and Emma can’t help the big smile blooming over her lips.

 

“You too.”

 

Killian gives her a tour of the yacht, the place he uses as an escape from everything else, and when they step onto the deck, there’s a romantic table set for two, lit candles, champagne and a string quartet playing violins. It reminds her of the ballroom, but this is a much more intimate setting and there are far less people.

“This is like our own personal cruise,” Emma remarks as Killian pulls out a chair for her.

 

“You could say that. But no worries, we’ll be back before the evening’s over.”

 

Emma takes the offered seat as he sits across from her. “You mean you're not going to kidnap me and steal me away?” she teases playfully.

 

Killian lifts a quirky brow, smirking at her. “Don't tempt me, darling. The idea of keeping you all to myself is quite appealing.”

 

A pleasant shiver skates down her spine under his burning stare as he grabs the champagne bottle. Emma has a feeling that going away with him wouldn't be the worst idea ever.

 

“Would you like some champagne, love?”

 

Emma thinks about the question, knowing if Milah were there looking over her shoulder, she’d be telling her _no,_ and that _alcohol inhibits one’s ability to make good decisions._ Last night was different because they were in a room full of people, but now they're on the ocean with only a few others on board who are most likely being paid to give them privacy. But Emma decides she wants the evening to play out it’s natural course. “Sure, I’ll take some.”

 

Killian pours them both some of the bubbly liquid and lifts the covers from the platters of food, which he tells her he made himself. It’s seafood, which Emma has never really tried before, but once she tastes the shrimp and parmesan crusted Tilapia, she easily decides it’s delicious.

 

“I can’t believe you’ve never had fish before, love.”

 

Emma shrugs. “Well, I grew up in foster homes, so if I wanted fish, I had to catch it from the creek, gut it and cook it myself. And it certainly would not have tasted anything like this,” Emma states, taking another bite. The texture is soft and practically melts on her tongue.

 

Killian’s eyes flicker with guilt, his features falling in regret, and Emma swallows her food down quickly. Why did she have to bring up her dreary childhood?

 

“I hope you don’t mind all this. I just wanted to…” He pauses and she looks into his eyes, trying to read what he is thinking. “I’m not the type of person who likes to rub their wealth in other’s faces, I just wanted you to have a special evening.”

 

Emma takes his hand from over the table, soothing his knuckles with her thumb to ease his worries. “I didn’t think that at all about you. This is very special. No guy’s ever went all out for me before.” She really should not be surprised her first date with Killian is an enchanting one, if the previous evening was any indication. “If I could have dreamt up the perfect first date, this is better—way better—so thank you.”

 

“You're very welcome.” Killian offers a small smile and brings her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

 

They change the subject and finish the rest of their dinner before moving on to dessert, talking and laughing under the stars.

 

Taking their champagne glasses with them, they eventually move to the patio sofa, gazing out across the ocean, and watching the flecks of white reflecting over the vast waters.

 

“I’m sorry if I dampened the mood earlier, talking about my depressing childhood,” Emma apologizes as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I've never done this whole dating thing before, so I'm not very good at it.”

 

“You're better than you think, love,” he assures, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

 

Emma gives him a feeble smile, but she’s still doubtful.

 

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t do this very often, so I don't have much to compare it to.”

 

Emma lifts a brow, surprised by this. “You don't go on a lot of dates?”

 

Killian shakes his head, looking down. “No, in fact I've never taken a woman on my yacht before.”

 

At that she has to laugh. “You're joking, right?”

 

He lifts his eyes again, the intensity of his stare stealing her breath away. “Afraid not, love. I travel a lot, and when I am here in Palm Beach, the relationships I've been in have been short-lived.”

 

Emma takes a sip of her champagne, mulling on that thought for a moment. If those women left shortly after the relationship began, then they must have been scared off somehow. “Let me guess, David always weeds them out with his big brother speeches?”

 

Killian lets out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Some of them, but I'm normally good at judging if a woman is after me for my money... or if they're only after _me_.”

 

Emma gulps thickly, wondering if he’s ever suspected her of this since they've met. “Have any of them been the latter?”

 

Killian’s stare pierces directly into her soul, and Emma can see the answer buried in his deep blues. She can see the pain he keeps hidden there, and it makes her heart ache. “No, they haven't.” Killian takes her hand in his, resting both over her crossed leg. “Not until now.”

 

Emma’s heart flutters… at first. She can't believe this man has poured so much trust into her already. She can't believe someone like him actually likes her this much. She can't believe any woman would not want the entire package that is Killian Jones. She can't believe this man, this _perfect_ man who is sweet and generous and rich— _oh yeah,_ she _can_ believe he would attract women who are only after his money, because _she_ is one of them. Emma's heart tightens. How can she do this to such a wonderful man? “I don't know about that,” she mumbles quietly, her eyes dropping to their joined hands.

 

“What do you mean?” he inquires, soothing her thumb with the pad of his.

 

She looks up at him, a smile curving her lips. “I mean… there are many qualities about you to appreciate. You're generous, you're great with kids, you're kind and you have a huge heart. You also know how to dance,” she adds with a laugh. “Is there anyone more perfect than you?”

 

Killian blushes, scratching behind his ear. “I wouldn't say I'm perfect. Having a huge heart is not always a good thing.”

 

Her features fall at the sadness in his tone. “How so?”

 

“Because, I often leave my heart on my sleeve. Everything I do, I put my whole heart into. I don't do things half-ass, if you couldn't already sense that,” he chuckles.

 

Emma squeezes his hand, offering a frail smile. “Sounds like a good way to get your heart broken.”

 

“Aye, it is. So, I have to protect myself somehow, which usually means a lot of lonely nights.”

 

“Believe me, if there's anyone who knows how to protect their heart, it's me.”

 

Killian’s eyes flash with comprehension. “That's why you've never been on a single date, then?”

 

Emma nods, her voice cracked as she answers, “Can't get your heart broken if you keep it locked away.”

 

His eyes widen in surprise, and Emma thinks she may have given away too much. “But you're taking a risk with me?”

 

She shrugs and removes her hand from his grasp, placing a palm on his arm. “What can I say, I’m an avid lover of poker who enjoys a little game of risk.”

 

“Really?” Killian asks with intrigue, lifting a brow.

 

Emma laughs. “Yes, and besides, you're taking a risk with me. Why not take it together?”

 

The pools of his blue irises soften under Emma’s gaze as he offers a smile that makes her heart melt. “I can’t say I’ve ever played poker before, but I do like that idea, love.”

 

Emma’s smile dims, her features growing more serious. “I've spent my entire life running away, I've always been just an orphan wandering the planet with no place to call home, so maybe it's time I changed that.”

 

Killian leans in caressing her cheek, his voice weak as he speaks. “I know what you mean. I've spent my entire life traveling, and it's been far too long since I've actually had a home.”

 

“I don't know, I think you’ve already found your home.”

 

Studying her eyes carefully, he lifts a brow, trying to discern what she’s saying. “You mean here in Palm Beach? I'm not sure about that. I'm not even here very much.”

 

“No, not Palm Beach. Home is not always a place. Being home is being with the people you love, and you have that wherever you go—Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Regina, Henry...”

 

“And what about you? Do you have a person to call home?”

 

Of course Emma’s answer is yes. Her sister is and always will be her home, but she can't tell Killian that, as much as she wishes she could. “No, I don’t.”

 

Killian’s eyes fall to her lips, and he leans in slowly, placing his finger under her chin, his thumb grazing her jaw. “Well, then you're right. Perhaps we can do something about that.”

 

Emma longs to feel his lips on hers, and she knows she shouldn't kiss him, but _God_ she wants to. Kilian moves in, and she's glad the string quartet had left the deck after dinner. He pauses, making sure she wants this too, so she closes the rest of the distance between them and goes after his lips.

 

An abrupt screeching sound from across the water makes Emma gasp, and the big boom and colors erupting into the sky make her jump.

 

They both look towards the source of the interruption, watching the fireworks shoot up into the sky and explode, lighting up the black night.

 

“Come on, love.” He stands up, grabs her hand and leads her to the railing. Emma trails behind him, keeping her eyes on the display across the water. She lets go of his hand and stands in front of him, her elbows leaning on the rail, her gaze focused on the fireworks.

 

Wondering how the night could possibly get better than this, she feels the touch of his hand gliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She feels his breath on her skin as he whispers in her ear, “You cold, love?”

 

Emma smiles with devilry, nuzzling her head against his lips. “What if I am?”

 

Killian chuckles against her, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down her spine as he takes her hands, threading his fingers through Emma’s and encircling her in his arms. “Do you always use this tactic to get men to wrap their arms around you?”

 

Emitting a small laugh, she closes her eyes and sighs in content, enjoying his warm embrace. “So what if I do? It worked, didn't it?”

 

“Like a charm.” Killian’s voice is smooth as silk, sending vibrations through her body.

 

“Actually, I've never really craved having a man’s arms around me before,” she admits, loud enough for him to hear over the fireworks.

 

“Never?”

 

She shakes her head. “Never.”

 

“And what changed?”

 

Emma leans her head back, angling her face towards him and murmuring softly in his ear, “I met you.”

 

She hears his breath catch and faces the ocean again as he tightens his hold around her, pressing his lips against her lobe. As much as she's not supposed to allow him to effect her like this, Emma is overtaken with warmth from such a small affection, and she has to bite her bottom lip to refrain from making any sounds of pleasure.

 

When he turns his head, the stubble on his jaw scrapes against her skin, and immediately she feels the loss of his lips. She tries to focus on the fireworks, but his warm body pressed to her back and his strong arms wrapped around her frame inhibits her ability to think clearly. The heat is surging between them, but it has nothing to do with the warmth of the summer air.

 

Emma tries to adjust her focus on the game plan, but instead she can’t concentrate on anything but Killian’s hands entwined in hers, and the way his chest moves against her back with every shaky breath he takes. Emma leans her head back again and places a kiss on his cheek. She can feel him quiver against her body, the smell of his skin overwhelming her senses. Another round of fireworks screech above the water, and Emma decides to throw her promise to Milah overboard.

 

She reaches behind his head, sliding her fingers through his hair and bringing his lips to hers.

 

Given their recent luck, she’s half expecting to get interrupted, but instead, she's finally feeling those delicate, soft lips on hers as he parts his mouth, responding to her advances. He tastes even better than she’d imagined, and she can't bring herself to pull away. Sliding her tongue into his mouth and tasting the sweetness of his, she tugs on his hair to press him closer.

 

Once he lets a little groan tear from his throat, Emma is officially a goner. She spins around in his arms, cupping his cheeks in her hands as the kiss rapidly becomes heated, both of them breathing each other in. Killian’s hands are soon all over her back, and everything Emma keeps tamed inside her—emotions, desire, the way she has genuinely grown to care about him—erupts to the surface.

 

The fireworks are long forgotten.

 

Emma moans as he presses her against the railing, and rips his lips away, the prickly stubble around his mouth dragging across her skin as he leaves an assault of kisses in his wake, causing her head to spin. Making a trail across her jaw, he reaches her ear, speaking in a low, husky voice, “Do you trust me, Swan?”

 

Emma's not sure exactly what he means by that— _does she trust him not to take things too far? Or does she trust him not to break her heart?_ She's not really sure, but she nods her head anyway.

 

Emma gasps in surprise when he lifts her up and sits her on the railing. He urges her knees apart and moves in, pulling her legs around his waist, his lips crashing into hers. Now she understands what he’d meant, because he has to hold her securely in his arms to keep her from falling off the railing and into the dark waters. And now she's glad she’d shaved her legs.

 

Their bodies move instinctively, his groin pressing against her center as they eagerly devour each other. Despite the fireworks still going off behind her, their muffled moans, heavy breathing and the sounds of their lips smacking together are all they can hear.

 

Emma releases his lips and buries her face in the crook of his neck, leaving seductive kisses down the column of his throat. He dips his head back to allow her more access as she clutches onto him tightly, but it's not because she's afraid of falling. She’s wanted this man since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

 

“Love, we shouldn't…” His slurred words are completely wrecked as she pulls back, struggling to catch her breath. “We should stop.”

 

She nods in agreement, licking her lips to savor the taste of him. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—”

 

Killian offers a lazy smirk. “Please, don't apologize. That was uh…” Killian stammers, scratching behind his ear.

 

Emma laughs when she sees the red lipstick on his mouth and wipes it off with her thumb. The possibility of her makeup rubbing off on him had completely escaped her after dinner, even though she knew the lipstick choice wasn’t made to last through everything.

 

“If we continue any further we might end up making fireworks of our own.”

 

Sharing a laugh, both are blushing profusely as Killian helps her down from the railing.

 

“If I’m being honest, I really like you, Emma,” he admits earnestly, and his words crack as he gazes into her eyes, “and I don't want to screw this up by taking things way too fast.”

 

Emma stares back at him, and cups his cheeks in her hands, whispering into his ear, “I like you too.”

 

Killian smiles, caressing her cheek. She turns around in his arms after a moment and they watch the remainder of the fireworks display. They spend the rest of the evening dancing as he tells her about the upcoming tour, both of them deciding it's best not to tempt fate by kissing again.

 

The night ends far too soon, and once the boat reaches the marina, Killian wraps Emma's shawl around her shoulders and grabs her clutch and bouquet of roses, handing them over to her after Emma insists she can carry them herself.

 

Smee emerges from the cockpit as they're about to leave, and his cheeks fill with blush when he looks at Killian. “Uh, Captain, you have uh…” he stammers, gesturing to his neck.

 

Their faces fall in confusion as she looks at Killian to see what Smee is referring to.

 

“What is it, love?”

 

“We seem to have missed a spot. There's still some lipstick on your neck,” she laughs and pulls out a tissue from her purse. Taking his jaw in her hand, she wipes his neck clean, his breath hitching at her touch and their eyes connecting intensely.

 

“You both enjoyed the evening, I take it?” the man remarks with a smirk.

 

“We did, indeed,” Killian blushes and smiles as she gets off any of the remaining red and tears her eyes away from him to tuck the tissue back into her purse. “I'll be escorting Emma to her car now. Could you—”

 

“No, worries. I'll take care of the Jolly and tuck her in,” he reassures with a wink and a friendly pat on Killian’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you, Smee. You're the best.”

 

“No problem. Have a good night, Miss Swan. It was nice meeting you.”

 

“You too. Goodnight.”

 

Killian and Emma leave the yacht and walk to her car, their hands entwined as she takes stock of the evening. She can’t remember ever having as much fun as she did tonight, and she's sad he is leaving tomorrow.

 

“So, what do you think, love? Would you be willing to give dating a try? With me of course,” he adds with a small laugh when they reach her vehicle.

 

Pursing her lips in contemplation, she steps closer to him, fluttering her lashes flirtatiously and tilting her head. “I suppose I could. I had a really nice time tonight.”

 

“I’m glad… because I was hoping...” Killian begins softly as he takes her free hand in his. He opens his mouth to finish his sentence, but appears to be hesitant to continue.

 

“You were hoping what?” she questions a bit nervously, her words laced with concern.

 

Killian’s lips twitch into a small smile and he says simply, “Come with me.”

 

Her eyebrows weave, displaying her confusion. “What?”

 

“Tomorrow, when I leave for Ohio… I want you to come with me.”

 

Emma's mouth falls open; she’s not sure what to say to that. They've made a lot of progress so far, but she doesn't want to ruin anything by going with him just yet. It's far too soon in the game. Besides, Milah would never allow it. Emma had already gone too far by kissing him, and she knows she’ll receive the wrath from Milah as it is. “But… what happened to taking things slowly?”

 

“Emma, I’m not proposing marriage, I’m just asking you to accompany me on the tour. You’ll have your own hotel suite and you won't have to worry about the expenses. I'll make sure you have everything you need for the trip. I just… I would very much like your company and I'm not sure when I will see you again otherwise.”

 

Emma gulps thickly. She had anticipated going with him, just not this soon and not without any type of notice. “I… I'm sorry, I just… I have obligations here,” she manages. “I have my job, I can't just up and leave.”

 

Killian’s features fall slightly, his eyes flickering with disappointment as he offers a weak smile. “Of course, love. I understand. It was a shot in the dark, but I had to take it.”

 

Emma offers a reassuring grin, reaching a hand to caress his jaw. “It's okay. I will miss you when you're gone though.” She extends her hand to him, adding, “Let me see your phone.”

 

Killian quickly reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his phone, handing it over.

 

Quickly keying in her number, she adds it to his contact list. “There, now you have my number. Will you call me?”

 

Killian nods as Emma hands his phone back. “Of course I will.”

 

She leans in, capturing his lips and luring him in for a deep kiss. One of his hands curl around her hip, the other sliding through her hair, and their lips and tongues move slowly, memorizing the feel and texture of one another, making the moment last before having to break apart.

 

Killian groans in content, he bites her bottom lip and slowly releases it, pulling away and resting his forehead on hers. She licks her lips, clutching onto the lapels of his jacket, whispering breathlessly, “Goodbye, Killian. And good luck.”

 

Killian smiles, his blue eyes glittering under the moonlight as he caresses her cheek with his thumb. “Thank you, love. Goodnight.”

 

She reluctantly lets him go and gets in her car when he pulls the door open for her. But before he closes it, he hunches over slightly to catch her gaze, a trace of hope lingering in his eyes. “If you change your mind, takeoff from the airport is at 8 a.m. tomorrow. I’ll text you the address just in case, and I’ll wait for you at the terminal.”

 

Emma offers a soft smile and nods as he shuts the door. They wave at one another as she drives away, and a strange feeling courses through her body. She feels as light as a feather, her lips still tingling and her body buzzing with nerves and excitement. But she's also feeling guilty, and her heart is swelling inside her chest; she really doesnt know what to do with all these emotions. She does know one thing for sure; for the first time since she and Milah had started conning, Emma doesn't want the mark to get hurt. She doesn’t want him to suffer any more than he already has. For the first time in her life, she is falling for her mark.

 

_Crap. She's totally fucked!_


	8. Accepting the Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're on chapter 8 already? Where did the time go? Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments and thanks for following along! You've all been very patient to find out how things go down, but I promise we'll get there soon. In fact, there's a lot happening in this chapter to move the story along at a quicker pace.

**_~Rule #8: You hold all the cards, so know how to play them. You've spent all those hours trying to catch him, so respect the work you've done. Once you've caught him, reel him in, wrap him around your finger and make him bend to your will. Make him chase you, make him travel to you, make him pick you up, not the other way around. It's important to put your needs first and just do you, not him.~_ **

 

“No way! I strictly forbid it!” Milah throws Emma a glance, eyes full of fury from across the jacuzzi.

 

_Why is Milah acting like this?_

 

The mood had gone sour far too quickly for Emma’s liking. And here she thought they could have a civil conversation about this. She thought if she could lure Milah into the relaxing jacuzzi along with some expensive champagne, Emma would be able to coax her into saying yes. Of course when Milah sobers tomorrow and realizes her mistake, it would be too late. Emma would already be gone.

 

Emma’s eyes widen and she stands from the seat in the tub, the water cascading down her bikini clad body as she quickly climbs out and grabs a towel from the nearby bench to dry off.

 

_So much for soothing bubbles and massaging jets._

 

“You’re not my mother!” Emma reminds her, shivering from the cool air hitting her heated skin as she wraps the towel around her form.

 

“I’m your sister and I’m only looking out for you.” Milah’s voice is much calmer as she leans her head back, resting on the ledge of the tub. “And I don’t want to see you following this guy around like a lost puppy dog. He comes to you, you do not go to him!”

 

This only makes Emma furious, and her blood boils with anger. “You’re not looking out for me. You just don’t want me to succeed! Being apart from him is going to be a huge setback,” Emma bites out angrily. “His schedule is jam packed with tournaments, and I’m not sure when he’ll be back!”

 

“You should have thought about that before you decided to go after a pro golfer! Besides, if he really wants to see you, he'll do what it takes!”

 

Emma's eyes practically pop out of their sockets. “This is Killian’s career and his life! He can’t just leave when he feels like it.”

 

Milah raises her head, her eyes narrowing at Emma. “What did you just call him?”

 

Emma’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she realizes her mistake. She’d called him Killian. “Hook, I meant Hook.”

 

Milah’s eyes widen when she scans Emma’s features. “No, it wasn’t an accident, was it? You’ve never called him Killian before, only his nickname.”

 

Emma looks down, tearing her gaze from her sister’s. “It was an accident. It meant nothing, I promise.”

 

Milah still does not look happy when Emma finally lifts her chin, and the brunette’s arms are folded over her chest.

 

“Really? So you’re not developing any feelings for him?”

 

Emma quickly shakes her head, her features twisting in defense. “No, of course not!”

 

Milah laughs, but it’s a far cry from being playful as she emerges from the tub and grabs a towel to dry herself off. Wrapping it around her waist, she walks to a table near the front door and grabs a piece of paper, going back to Emma and showing it to her. “Then why was this on your computer screen this morning?”

 

Emma takes the page, scanning it over before glancing up at her sister again. It's a confirmation of her purchases for a coursebook and class about caring for children with disabilities she’d signed up for. “Because I wanted to do some volunteer work. I wanted to make it believable that I care about disabled children. I did it to impress Kil—Hook. I did it to impress Hook,” Emma claims, but even she knows she’s not fooling anyone—not even herself.

 

Milah nods, but her features are drowning in sarcasm. “I’m sure spending $100 for that will be worth it.”

 

Emma’s eyes widen incredulously. “It’s a small price to pay.”

 

Milah scoffs. “Yeah I’m sure it would be, considering you’re in love with your mark.”

 

Emma tightens her lips, taking in a deep breath through her nose, the anger bubbling inside of her once more. “I am not in love with him. I’m playing my part, and I refuse to be chastised for that.”

 

A taunting smirk tilts Milah’s lips as she drops her arms and strides over to Emma, her eyes steely and cold. “Fine. Then prove it. Do not go on that trip. Show me you are not emotionally attached to him. Then I’ll believe you.” With that, Milah turns and walks away.

 

Emma is heated. She huffs and rushes to the table slamming the page on the surface.

### $*$*$

 

“Killian, we can’t wait much longer.” Mary Margaret looks down at her watch to catch the time. “Emma’s a nice girl and all, but we’re scheduled to take off in five minutes.”

 

“She’ll come,” Killian states confidently to his agent. “I know she’ll come.” At least he hopes so. No, he _knows_ she’ll come. He can feel it in his gut.

 

The sound of the aircraft engines roar to life, the wind picks up, momentarily deafening him, and little traces of hope chip away within him. Knowing he might have to leave without her makes his stomach recoil. He doesn’t know how long he can be without her. Granted, they only started dating yesterday, but he knows he won’t be able to vanquish her from his mind. Especially not after last night. He can still feel her soft lips on his, he can still feel how bloody fantastic her body felt pressed to his, he can still smell her perfume. His heart flutters rapidly just thinking about her.

 

Two minutes pass and Emma’s still not here.

 

“It’s time to go!” Mary Margaret shouts over the drone of the jet, her white blazer fluttering around her, revealing the intricate wiring of her earpiece.

 

He nods reluctantly as she and David board, and Killian starts moving towards the large aircraft. His heart sinks and his features are worn with disappointment, but what other choice does he have? He begins to ascend the steps towards the opening of the aircraft.

 

“Killian!”

 

His ears perk up at the sound over the engines and he quickly turns around to see Emma rushing towards him, with Tiny from ground personnel escorting her. A smile blooms over his lips, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he rushes down the steps.

 

“I’m here!” Emma calls out. She desperately makes her way towards him, frazzled as she hauls her rolling suitcase along with her across the tarmac.

 

When she approaches, Killian scoops her into his arms, crashing his lips into hers. They both sigh in relief, and he doesn’t know just how much he had wanted her to join him until that exact moment. The wind is blowing around them, whipping through their hair as he tightens his arms around her, pulling her closer, savoring the taste and feel of her lips before he has to let her go.

 

“I don't mean to interrupt, but we gotta go, Hook!”

 

The sound of his agent's voice over the jet pulls them apart, and he looks over at the brunette, flashing a small smirk. “Apologies, love. We’re coming.”

 

Killian and Emma are both blushing and smiling as Tiny takes her luggage to load it on the aircraft. Killian takes her hand in his, threading their fingers together as they make their way towards the jet.

 

Emma gapes at the large aircraft in bewilderment as they sashay up the steps. He can sense a bit of fear glazing over her bright green eyes.

 

“Wow, I never thought I’d be flying by a private jet,” she tells him as they board. “Truthfully I never thought I’d be flying at all. I’ve always preferred road trips.”

### $*$*$

 

Inside the jet, it’s significantly quieter, and she’s still in complete awe. Her stomach is doing somersaults as she takes a seat in the luxurious leather seat next to Killian and plugs in her seatbelt.

 

“We’re glad you could make it,” Mary Margaret chirps, her bubbly personality much too bubbly this early in the morning.

 

Emma gives her a tired smile and leans her head back, anxiously waiting for takeoff.

 

She can’t believe she’s going with Killian to Ohio, and she knows Milah will try and make her regret it—when Milah finds out; Emma had left a note for her on the breakfast table. The plane jolts forward, and Emma gasps, desperately grabbing Killian's hand in hers.

 

He chuckles and slides his fingers in between hers. “Relax, love. We’re just starting to roll down the runway.”

 

Some classical music starts playing, which calms her a bit, along with Killian’s soothing voice and his touch. Emma had managed to pack early that morning, way too early, as quickly as she possibly could, and jammed everything she could into her suitcase. She’s sure she’s forgotten some things, but she’ll have to do without or buy the items where they are going. She’s lucky Milah didn’t wake up, but the brunette is not really an early riser, so Emma knew she had a chance of escaping.

 

“So, what you made you change your mind?” Killian asks, tilting his head towards her and curving a brow in curiosity.

 

Emma looks over at him, flashing a small smile. “I wasn’t going to, but last night I couldn’t sleep, and I just thought why not? Why not take a chance? Really, the main reason I didn’t want to go is because…” she leans in, whispering in his ear, “I’m terrified of flying.”

 

Killian’s eyes widen in surprise as he scans her features, swallowing audibly. “You’re terrified of flying and you still came?”

 

Emma nods. “Yeah,” she answers timidly.

 

Killian appears to be touched by this, a wide smile blossoming over his lips as he leans in, pressing a kiss to her temple, murmuring against skin, the soft vibrations of his voice soothing her nerves a bit more. “Well, I promise you won’t regret it.” He raises their joined hands and drops gentle kisses to her knuckles. “Just relax and take deep breaths.”

 

Emma hates the idea of planes, hates the idea of flying and hates the idea of having her feet anywhere but planted solidly on the ground. The jet makes another turn to head straight, and Emma does what she’s told, breathing in slowly to calm her anxiety. Her fingers grip tightly around Killian’s hand as the plane bounces off the runway and begins to ascend.

 

“Just breathe, love. I got you.”

 

Emma squeezes his hand a little tighter and sinks back in the seat, closing her eyes. She takes in another deep breath, her nerves slowly dwindling.

 

Once they reach cruising altitude and Emma’s ears stop popping, she’s able to relax a bit more, and they move to more comfortable seating—on a matching leather couch.

 

They sit back and Killian wraps his arm around her shoulders as she leans her body into his. Now that her fear of flying has simmered, she starts to feel the weariness in her eyes and tiredness sinking into her bones. She covers the yawn escaping her mouth and rests her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth from his body through the cotton polo he’s wearing. She’s not really sure what to do with her right hand as she lowers it from her face, so she slips it underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling his washboard stomach and abs underneath and hearing his breath catch in his throat.

 

“Would you like some coffee, Emma?” he asks, placing his left hand on her arm, running his fingers over her skin as if to secure her hand on his stomach.

 

Emma shakes her head against the broadness of his shoulder, deciding he’s more comfortable than a soft pillow as she runs her hand over his stomach. “No, I think I might take a nap if that's okay.” She could really get used to this position.

 

“Of course, love. If you want to lay down, I can move.”

 

Again Emma shakes her head, already feeling the pull of sleep taking over her body as her eyes flutter shut. “That’s okay. You make a really good pillow,” she murmurs, and Killian chuckles, placing a kiss to her hair.

 

“As you wish.”

 

With those soft words, Emma nuzzles her cheek further into his warmth and they snuggle each other tighter as she allows herself to slowly drift off to sleep, thinking about how Milah’s taking the news, hoping Milah will forgive her.

### $*$*$

 

 

> _Dear Sis,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I left for Ohio to be with Hook, but please know I didn't do it because I have feelings for him. I did it for us. I did it for you. You've always been the big sister, you've always taken care of me and made sure I had everything I needed. Well, now it's time for me to take care of you. So, I ask you, please let me do what I have to do. Please trust me. The money’s in our reach and I'm so very close. Hawaii will be too. Very soon. Let me do this and I promise I won't let you down._
> 
>  
> 
> _I love you._
> 
>  
> 
> _~Emma_

 

Milah’s eyes prick with tears as she scans the letter. She wants to be mad, she wants to be furious, she wants tear up the paper into a million pieces.

 

But she can't.

 

She told Emma not to go, begged her, pleaded with her but now everything is out of her hands. Now she has to trust Emma to make diligent decisions. She has to let Emma do this. She knows that. So she will.

 

Milah retrieves her phone from her back pocket and types a message to Emma as she reads her words out loud.

 

“I'm trusting you, sis. Just don’t fuck it up.”

 

With a tap of her thumb, Milah presses send and hopes for the best.

### $*$*$

 

**One week later—Memorial Tournament, Dublin, OH**

 

_Killian “Hook” Jones stormed to a six-shot victory at the Memorial to reclaim the top spot in the rankings after being leapfrogged by Robin Locksley at the Players. —pgatour.com_

 

 **Two weeks later—** **FedEx St. Jude Classic** **, Memphis, TN**

 

_No player has ever won the week before the U.S. Open and gone on to claim the second major of the year, but after his win at the St. Jude Classic, Killian “Hook” Jones is aiming to break that streak. His return to world No. 1 has given him added confidence of making U.S. Open history at Shinnecock Hills next week. “I mean winning this week, I think, is a bigger confidence-booster than being number one in the world,” Hook said (via Sky Sports). “The U.S. Open is a tough place to win, but I don't know why it hasn't happened before, so why not be the first bloke to do it?” —pgatour.com_

 

 **Three weeks later—** **U.S. Open** **, Southampton, NY**

 

It's day one as Killian approaches the par-4 eighth hole and tees off with a swing, smart and efficient, sending his ball through the air a little more than two hundred yards. It falls to the very edge of the fairway and rolls off to the left, straight into a bunker.

 

He remains confident and is able to hole the shot, grabbing a share of the lead with Locksley at two under par.

 

On day four, Hook and Robin are tied until the seventeenth hole, much as they had been during the previous three rounds. Locksley’s drive on the seventeenth hooks into the bunker to the left of the fairway, giving Killian just the advantage he needs. Killian is able to birdie the short par three, where Robin overshoots his way out of the sand bunker, and double putts for bogey.

 

As the men begin the eighteenth, two strokes apart, all eyes are on Hook. After the first shot, a horrible drive sliced to the trees, it takes Killian an additional two shots—one out of the woods, and one to the green. The ball makes a smooth landing thirty feet from the cup.

 

It’s the third shot for Robin as he lines up his putt for roughly twenty seconds. His patience and measurement pay off, and he makes the long putt for birdie. He walks to the hole, enjoying the crowd cheering on his possible victory. Grabbing his ball out of the cup, he holds it up to the crowd and nods graciously.

 

Killian must now make this monster putt to win; if he doesn’t, the round will go into sudden death to break the tie. The audience grows restless, shouting for Killian to “put it in the hole!”

 

He glances around the crowd, anxious to see his beautiful, blonde talisman. Spotting her, he grins, realizing she might be as nervous as he is, as she bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, her hands laced together under her chin as though she is praying. She throws him an excited wave, and he winks in return.

 

Taking a deep breath and centering himself, he focuses on lining up his putt. With a solid stroke and follow through, the anticipation is heightened as the ball slowly rolls down the green and swivels around the cup before sinking in.

 

The crowd goes wild, whistling, cheering and applauding as Killian raises a subtle victory fist into the air. He waves to the crowd, and looks to Emma once more, blowing her a kiss.

 

 _World number one, Killian “Hook” Jones has broken several records today. He successfully defended his title at_ _Shinnecock Hills_ _on_ _Long Island_ _, and is the first golfer to win consecutive U.S. Opens since_ _Curtis Strange_ _in_ _1988_ _and_ _1989_ _. He is also the first player ever to win the U.S. Open having triumphed the weekend before. “I think it was a big win,” Hook says. “It was a big statement by myself. I'm proud of the way I played, the way I handled it.” —pgatour.com_

 

Killian’s relieved when he can finally escape the thralls of a reporter of Palm Beach after she questions him about his game at Shinnecock Hills, but at this point, the questions are no different than the zillion other questions he’s been asked since he’d gained yet another win the day before. He’s relieved when he can finally mingle with the people he'd rather mingle with—namely his friends and the gorgeous blonde who's been checking him out from the other end of the room.

 

A few other people stop him along the way to congratulate him, but finally he manages to slither his way through the crowd. First, he has to greet Locksley, who he somehow hasn't really spoken to since the other night before the game, with a hug and a hearty clap on the back. “Good game, mate.”

 

“You had a nice play too, Hook, but only after you almost fucked it up in the first round,” Locksley taunts playfully with a laugh.

 

Killian shakes his head, chuckling. “And yet, I still beat you by two strokes,” he reminds him, lifting a glass of wine from a waiter's tray before turning towards the dinner table.

 

“Because I let you,” Robin remarks with a grin.

 

“You're just still sore I reclaimed the number one ranking at the Memorial,” Killian retaliates before taking a sip of his wine.

 

Robin sighs, and Killian pats him on the arm and steps away in the direction of the woman with the long blonde curls and a stunning black dress.

 

She’s smiling radiantly as he reaches her, finally, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “How's my beautiful good luck charm?” he asks, and her cheeks are tinged with blush as she wraps her arms around the back of his neck. Killian had lost his lucky glove the same week he’d lost his number one ranking, but he was able to win it back in Ohio, the same week Emma first joined him on the tour. Needless to say, his long lost glove was no longer missed.

 

“Missing her star golfer,” Emma answers softly, pressing her lips to his. He sighs into the kiss, missing how she tastes, missing how she feels in his arms. Even though he’d seen her on the greens as she watched him play, and gave him sweet pecks on the cheek every time he could catch a break, to wish him luck, and even though they flew back home together, he can never fully get enough. “I'm also starving,” Emma adds.

 

Killian grins widely, a small laugh escaping is lips. “Then come, love. Let's eat.” He takes her hand, leading her to their table where the Nolans and Locksley and his family join them.

 

The dinner at the Mills Ranch after a tournament is tradition, the salmon's perfect and the wine is almost as good, and well, Killian doesn't think it can get any better than this.

 

Round one of the Open had started out rocky, but he was quick to overcome it. Every shot on Shinnecock was difficult starting with number eight during the first round, the conditions were tough and the courses were long. And normally, he'd rather be out hitting a bucket of practice balls, but right now, he has other things planned for the evening. They fall into easy conversation, discussing golf stats and other nonsense. When Emma’s with him, he doesn't like to let the golf chat drone on forever, but she seems to actually enjoy it and always finds a way to add to the conversation.

 

Killian could not have picked a more perfect woman.

 

“I have to use the restroom, babe,” Emma murmurs, trying not to announce to the whole table as the wait staff starts to whisk their dinner plates away. She removes the napkin from her lap and sets it on the table as Killian places a hand on her back, leaning in to kiss her lips.

 

“Don't keep me waiting for long,” he teases lightly in her ear and Emma shudders, smiling brightly as she caresses his cheek.

 

“I won't, I promise.”

 

He watches as she gets up and walks away, and Regina rises from the table, informing the group she has to use the ladies’ room as well.

 

Part of him is wishing she’d stay, but it doesn't matter. She’ll find out after it’s all said and done. Perhaps it’s better this way.

 

“So, things are still going well between you and Emma, I see,” Mary Margaret comments happily.

 

“You could say that.” Killian blushes and offers a tentative smile as he reaches into the inside of his jacket. It’s been the most amazing three weeks of his life. The item inside the square velvet box he’s currently grasping onto and slowly pulling out is a testament to that. His cheeks are burning as he keeps his eyes on the corridor to the restrooms before opening the box and holding it over the table for everyone to see.

 

The group gasps in shock as they take in the sight of the eighteen karat white gold with a spherical diamond connected by bands which are laced with smaller diamonds. The metal speaks for strength of promised love, and the precious gem speaks of his lady love—pure and one of a kind.

 

“In fact, I’m proposing to her tonight.”

### $*$*$

 

Emma emerges from the stall, glancing down at herself and smoothing out some wrinkles in her dress. Looking up again as she walks towards the sink, she stops suddenly in her tracks, breath catching in her throat as she presses her hand to her heart, seeing Regina leaning against the counter. “God, you scared me,” she breathes, continuing to one of the sinks to wash her hands.

 

The other woman's arms are folded over her chest, lips hinting to a wicked smirk as she watches Emma like she’s up to something. Emma’s not surprised because the woman’s been glaring at her all night. She’s just not sure why.

 

She tries to ignore the brunette, but Emma can sense her deadly stare, and it gives her goosebumps. She dries her hands with a paper towel and throws it away before moving towards the exit.

 

Regina suddenly steps in her way.

 

“What is your problem?” Emma asks bluntly, her brow arched in confusion.

 

Regina grins, a wide, devilish grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’ll tell you what my problem is.” She steps closer, dropping her arms and engaging Emma with a threatening stare. “My problem is your intentions with Hook.”

 

The lines of Emma's forehead rise, and as she studies the woman’s face, it dawns on her—Regina knows what she’s up to. “What are you talking about?” she feigns innocence, hoping she is wrong about her theory.

 

Regina's grin only widens. “Tell me, Miss Swan, how exactly do you sleep at night knowing you're about to break Hook's heart like you've done to several others?”

 

Emma starts to grow angry as she crosses her arms, glaring at this woman defiantly. “I care about Killian.”

 

Regina mocks her with a dramatic nod. “Right I can see that, and does your sister know that?”

 

Emma's eyes widen, her face going pale, heart dropping to her stomach. “How did you—”

 

An evil, hearty laugh escapes Regina's lips as she makes a gesture with her hand, as though she's a goddamn queen or something, and starts strutting past Emma across the restroom, away from her and the door. “Let's just say, I have friends in high places. Friends who know how to dig up dirt.” She spins around on her heels, her smile never fading. “But I guess you already know how to do that too. Because why else would you be here? You certainly did not fly here on a whim.”

 

Emma's blood sizzles, but at the same time, her stomach is clenching with fear. “You don't have anything on me,” she challenges.

 

“You’re right, I don't have anything on Emma Swan.” Regina resumes her previous movements, slowly pacing back and forth. “Except that she was tossed around to different foster homes until she was sixteen when she and her sister, Milah Raven, were adopted by Ingrid Frost, and then went to live with Mal Page after Ingrid died in a tragic accident. Then Emma and Milah left for Boston after graduation and became bartenders,” Regina adds, her nose scrunching up in distaste. “But after that, there is nothing on Emma Swan and Milah Raven.” Regina turns and looks at Emma again. “It turns out there’s a huge gap of time from when you and Milah left Boston in 2016 to when you both came here.” She lifts her chin, perching it in her hand and rubbing her fingers over the skin like she’s solving a mystery. “I found this to be very curious, so I had my friend dig even deeper. Milah’s been married five times in the last two years, using five different identities and she divorced each one because of adultery, running away with their money. And all of the husbands were connected to your aliases. Assistant, gardener, housekeeper, student. It’s a very clever setup really. I do have to give you and your sister props for that,” Regina says approvingly.

 

“You have no proof,” Emma scowls, not believing the audacity of this woman taking the initiative to dig up dirt on her and her sister.

 

“Oh, but I do.” Regina pulls something out of her pocket bag, and presents it to Emma—a manila envelope. “You see, everything in here is proof of what you've been up to.”

 

Emma takes it and pulls out the papers, scanning them over. Sure enough, Regina is right—she has everything from their first con to when Milah fled from Storybrooke after the divorce.

 

She closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She’s totally fucked. So, with acceptance of this and with a feeble voice, she asks, “How much do you want to keep this to yourself?”

 

Again, Regina laughs, the menacing sound slithering over Emma’s skin. “Oh, honey, you think I did this to get a cut of the money? You forget I inherited this club and come from a wealthy family of high stature. I have all the money I could possibly need.”

 

Emma’s jaw tightens, not sure what else to offer this woman. “What do you want, then?”

 

There is no longer a smile on Regina's face, instead it’s replaced by anger and irritation. “It’s simple really.” Her tone is serious and threatening, and Emma can feel the effects of her words slithering all over her skin. “You see, if you break Killian’s heart to the point of devastation, he may stop doing the things which he loves. He may sell his yacht, he may stop coming here to the country club, and who knows, he may even stop playing golf. If that happens, I lose my members, and the Mills Ranch suffers because of it. And I will not allow some skinny blonde twat to ruin everything my family has built.” Regina steps closer, her eyes cold and steely, until she’s only a hair's breadth away from Emma. “I want you to call off the con. If you don’t, I will let everything in this envelope leak to the press and the police, so your newest fashion style will be orange jumpsuits as you both _rot_ behind bars,” she threatens through clenched teeth. “Is that clear?”

 

Emma tries to gulp, but there's a large lump in her throat and her mouth's as dry as sandpaper, so all she can manage is a nod as she hands the documents back to Regina. “Like crystal.”

 

The woman steps back, sliding the papers into the envelope, shoving it into her purse and flashing Emma a superficially sweet smile. “Good. I'm glad we’re on the same page.” The woman walks out of the restroom, leaving Emma completely frazzled.

 

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she heads for the door. At first, nothing but anger takes over her, but when she escapes the restroom and sees Killian standing there with his gorgeous smile as he extends his hand to her, she relaxes immediately. Emma takes his hand as he leads her across the room, and she starts to feel guilty, her heart full of regret.

 

She also feels like a failure.

 

Four weeks down the drain because she made one simple mistake. She used her real name. Why didn't she just listen to Milah, why did she have to be so naive? Now their secret is going to destroy them. She's not sure what will happen now. Three weeks ago when she had decided to get on that jet, she made a vow to herself—to not get attached. She wasn't going to let Milah down, and so far everything has been working perfectly. Emma had been so close, she could taste it. Now it doesn’t matter. Now she will have to end the con and probably go back to Boston. She'd probably go back to being a bartender making minimum wage because that and conning are all she knows.

 

Killian leads Emma out the door to the golf course, and she eyes him in confusion as they walk towards the practice range. “You want to practice? That’s kind of difficult to do considering you don't have your golf clubs with you.”

 

“No, I won’t be practicing tonight. You'll see, love.”

 

The sharp colors of the sunset spread across the sky as Killian walks her to the very same spot Emma was when she was _practicing her golf swing_. The very same spot where they officially met.

 

Emma gulps when she sees the red rose petals on the grass turf, shaped like a giant heart, and her brows weave together; she’s still perplexed. “Killian?”

 

When they reach the petals, stepping inside the heart shaped trail, he turns to her and takes her hands in his. He appears to be a nervous wreck, flashing a frail smile. “Emma, I brought you here because… this is where we met.”

 

“Technically we first met inside the club,” Emma reminds him.

 

Killian lets out a suppressed laugh, his cheeks colored with blush. “Well, if you want to get technical, we can go inside and I can ask you in front of everyone.”

 

Emma raises a brow, her voice shaky as she speaks, but she has a feeling she already knows the answer. “Ask me what?”

 

He takes a deep, wobbly breath, his beautiful cerulean eyes piercing into hers, and she can actually feel his hands trembling. “Emma, the first time I saw you was when you were walking along the beach as I was walking down the docks. You were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, you looked like an angel. You still do.”

 

Emma’s eyes widen; he’d never told her this before. She’d thought the first time he’d seen her was at this very country club. “You saw me before we met?”

 

Killian nods. “I did. And ever since then, I’ve been drawn to you like a moth to a flame.” His voice cracks as he continues. “My entire life has been nothing but loss and golf and traveling, and I’ve always had everything I ever needed. But, I always felt like I was missing something. I’ve always craved to have someone by my side...” he pauses briefly, swallowing hard and exhaling another deep, quivering breath to gain some more courage, “...someone supporting me and encouraging me, and not just because they have to or because it’s their job. The best part of winning the Open was not the prize money or the cup or even the ranking; the best part was having you there by my side. I’ve always wanted someone to share all of my experiences with, someone I could also support and encourage along the way. I’ve always wanted to have someone along for the ride.”

 

Killian takes another shaky breath and gets down on one knee, looking up at her with stormy eyes. He takes out a small, black velvet box, opening it up to display what's inside—a stunning white gold diamond ring. “Emma Swan, will you do me the honor of being by my side from this day forward? Will you be my wife?”

 

Emma gasps, not believing he’s actually proposing after a month, and right after Regina had given her the ultimatum to end the con. She's been waiting for this moment ever since she’d decided to be primary, but now she realizes she was never really _prepared._ And she certainly can't let Killian see anything but pure shock, so she has to play her part to the tee. Luckily she’s genuinely surprised by his proposal, but for different reasons than he may believe. “Killian, are you crazy?! We’ve only known each other for a little over a month and we’ve only been dating for three weeks?! We stayed in separate hotel suites, we haven't even had sex yet and now you want to get married?!”

 

“Emma, I know it’s crazy, my whole life has been crazy, but being with you calms me more than I can even describe. I’m crazy in love with you. My heart aches at the mere thought of not being by your side.” He offers a soft smile, glancing down at the ring. “And we haven’t had sex yet because I never want you to feel pressured or rushed.” He peers up at her as though he’s afraid of what her reaction will be.

 

“Says the man on one knee asking me to spend the rest of my life with him,” she breathes, still bewildered it only took one month.

 

This is by far a record for her and her sister. And she didn't have to make up any fantastical lie to speed up the process. Normally Milah tells the mark she’s a catholic and doesn't believe in sex before marriage. With their former marks, knowing sex was off the table until then suddenly made them a willing participant when it came to marriage. One time Milah even learned French and faked an accent, leading the mark to believe she was about to be deported. She's even gone as far as telling a mark she had an incurable illness when three months had gone by and she still had no ring on her finger to show for it.

 

“Emma, if you say no, I would understand, and we can go back to the way things were, I just… I want you to know I’m in this for the long haul. I will never abandon you.”

 

Her heart tightens at the sincerity of his words. She knows she should say no. She knows that everything could easily go up in flames, but she also knows she’d made a promise to her sister. And she refuses to let Milah down. She refuses to accept failure.

 

“Love, it’s okay if you’re not ready—”

 

“Yes,” Emma blurts the word out, quickly cutting him off. “My answer is yes. I will marry you.”

 

Killian’s face lights up, a smile blooming over his lips. “Really?”

 

She nods with certainty.

 

His reaction is infectious, and she grins as he slides the ring on her finger, securing it in place before rising and pulling her into a kiss. Emma responds, parting her lips for him and returning his affection, but her heart feels very heavy, and Regina’s threats are weighing on her mind. If that woman finds out about this, the whole thing will be ruined.

 

Pulling away, Emma gives him a tentative smile, as he blushes back at her.

 

“Love, we don’t have to get married straight awa—”

 

“But, I want to,” she assures, cutting him off. “I think we should.”

 

He scans her eyes, appearing to be surprised by this. “You really want to?”

 

Emma nods. “I do. I don’t want a big wedding. You have a break from the tour, and I don’t want all of the publicity. In fact… I just want a small, simple wedding with only a couple of witnesses,” she says. “So maybe we could just elope? You know, not tell anyone until after it’s done. Then later on, we can have a big wedding with everyone there,” she offers, hoping he will accept her suggestion— _praying_ he will accept it.

 

Killian’s lips crack into a wide grin, and a swarm of relief rushes over her. “My love, I believe you’ve just read my mind,” he murmurs, his voice completely wrecked as he presses his forehead to hers.

 

Emma’s eyes widen in bewilderment. “Really?”

 

He chuckles. “Really. You are absolutely right. It will be difficult to get married while I'm on tour, with reporters and fans all over us. I do not wish to do anything that will make you uncomfortable or want to run,” he confesses, curling his hands around her hips. “I just found you and I’m not letting you get away so easily.”

 

Emma laughs and sighs into him as she presses her hands against the warmth of his chest. “I haven’t ran yet, have I?”

 

“No, ma’am.” His lips crash into hers and she sighs pleasantly, indulging in the kiss and pulling him in deeper. And to think, she was sure everything was ruined. Turns out it's just the beginning.

 

They reluctantly pull away, catching their breaths, and Killian takes her hands in his, eyes buzzing with excitement. “It’s settled then, we’ll have a discreet wedding. But Mary Margaret and David can know and be witnesses, do you agree?”

 

“Yes, of course,” she answers, swallowing thickly.

 

“No worries, they can keep a secret. And whatever we do, we can’t let Regina know.” Emma’s eyes snap to his; she’s taken off guard by his words. “Her friend is a reporter, so if she finds out, we can say goodbye to a private wedding.”

 

Emma nods in agreement, sighing in relief and grinning from ear to ear. She’s so glad they’re on the same page. “Then we will make sure Regina doesn’t find out.”

 

### $*$*$

 

Emma is wearing a giddy smile as she’s making breakfast in the kitchen at the condo the next morning. She’s done her best to forget about Regina’s threats and she’s decided to remain confident knowing Regina will not find out about the wedding until it’s too late. Regina won’t know any better until Milah and Emma are on their way to Hawaii.

 

Emma’s heart hurts at the thought of leaving Killian. But she has to ignore those feelings. She is not allowed to feel that way about him. She has to remain positive.

 

She slides some plates of food on a tray, along with a glass of orange juice. She’s made all of Milah’s favorites—eggs benedict and french toast—and sashays down the hall to Milah’s bedroom bearing the tray of food.

 

“Milah… wakey, wakey, eggs and bacy,” Emma chants as she balances the tray with one hand and stealthily turns the doorknob with the other. Using her back to open the door, she shuffles inside the room and approaches Milah’s bedside.

 

The brunette’s eyelids are flickering open and she groans as Emma offers a big, bright smile.

 

Milah yawns, her features creasing in confusion as she props herself up on her elbows, seeing the tray of plates in Emma’s hands. “You brought me breakfast?” she asks groggily.

 

Emma nods and places the tray in Milah’s lap. “Breakfast that I made myself. I even cooked your favorite _—_ eggs benedict and french toast topped with strawberry syrup and whipped cream.”

 

Milah’s sleepy eyes light up and she sits up even more, leaning back against the headboard as Emma hands her the steaming mug of coffee. Milah takes a slow sip, closing her eyes to savor the taste. After a few seconds, her eyes fly open and she looks at Emma suspiciously, brows weaving together as she speaks very slowly in an accusing tone. “What did you do?”

 

Emma shrugs casually as she sits besides Milah, looking down at her left hand. Pursing her lips she toys with the ring on her finger. “Can’t a girl just wanna do something nice for her sister?” She stands up and reaches the head of the bed, whisking her left hand very casually at the tray. Milah’s chewing on a bite of french toast as she watches Emma’s movements. “This was really nothing.”

 

The brunette’s eyes fall on Emma’s hand and widen in shock. Milah quickly takes Emma’s hand, stealing a closer look. “He proposed?!”

 

“Well, I don't like to brag, but…” Emma answers nonchalantly before returning her gaze to Milah, a broad smile crawling across her lips, her words louder than before. “Killian proposed!”

 

Emma hadn’t been quite sure how Milah would take this information, but when the brunette moves the tray to the bedside table, there’s a natural eruption of excitement between the two of them—lots of jumping up and down on the bed and screaming and laughing and hugging.

 

Their plan is set in motion, and Emma’s doubts are instantly vanquished. She’s got a bag packed for when she and Killian elope; she's not sure when and where, only that it will happen. And soon it will be time for Emma and Milah to start packing all of their belongings and leave Palm Beach.

 

“Hawaii, here we come!”


	9. Poker Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are really not happy with Emma right now. I'm not trying to justify her actions, but you have to remember, she's only known Killian for a month, and she's known Milah her whole life, and the con has become a part of their relationship, so it's not easy for Emma to chose a guy she'd just met over her sister and throw everything they've worked hard for away. With that said, I think you might feel better after reading this chapter, either that or you'll be even less happy with Emma, depending how you look at it. Either way, this chapter covers a lot of ground and we're getting closer to the resolution, so please bear with me.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story even if you aren't so happy with Emma right now :)

**_~Rule #9: Keep a straight face and realize that adopting a lesser strategy only hurts you. Good players are able to let go of any emotional attachment to their pretty-looking marks because they know one thing for sure—love is weakness. Always play it safe, keep your heart guarded within its walled fortress and NEVER EVER have sex with your mark. This is a surefire way to let all of your walls come tumbling down. Once you give him what he desires most, you might as well fold and offer up your heart right then and there.~_ **

 

“Killian, this is Beatrix Byrd,” Emma announces, inwardly cringing at the name. “She’s an independent decorator, highly recommended to us by a few lovely customers at work.”

 

“Howdy!” Milah graces him with a fake Texan drawl and her most charming grin, stepping inside.

 

Killian smiles politely and shakes her hand as Emma shuts the front door. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Byrd.”

 

“Oh please, call me Trixy.”

 

“Trixy Byrd… that's an interesting name,” he comments playfully, smiling at Milah. Emma knows he's only being nice, but she also knows this is Milah’s game—to seduce him and manipulate him so he will cheat on Emma after they are married. The thought makes Emma nauseous to be honest, but she supposes this is how Milah has felt everytime Emma was in the position the brunette is in now. “Do you travel a lot?”

 

Milah giggles. “Nah, Byrd is my family name. Besides, it’s spelled with a y, not an i.”

 

“Actually, I was referring to Beatrix. The name comes from the Latin name Viatrix, which means voyager.” Killian blushes adorably, scratching behind his ear. “Don’t ask me how I know that, I honestly don’t remember, but I do read a lot.”

 

“I’ve never looked up the name before,” she lies, because Emma knows she has. Milah always conjures up aliases she can relate to, and doesn't normally choose random names out of thin air. “Nah, actually I was named after Beatrix Potter. She was a—”

 

“A British author and illustrator,” he finishes. “Born in London, England.”

 

“Ya’ah, she is my favorite author,” Milah informs exuberantly as she points a finger at him, narrowing her eyes. “And judgin’ by the accent, I'm sensin’ British from you as well?” she asks even though she already knows the answer. It's most likely the reason why she’d chosen to bring up Beatrix Potter.

 

“You are sensing correctly,” Killian answers with a smile. “In fact I was also born in London, England.”

 

“I knew it!” Milah chants, beaming along with him.

 

“And your accent sounds Southern. Texan perhaps?”

 

“You are correct. Born and raised.”

 

“I figured as much. You're dressed too warmly for Florida,” he comments, noticing the dark purple, long sleeved blouse and black slacks.

 

“Yes, I’m afraid Florida’s a tad too chilly for mah Texan blood. Mah gran hated the heat. She was from this small city in England and moved to East Texas to raise me.” Her eyes light up with (fake) nostalgia as she continues on. “She used to read me The Tale of Peter Rabbit ev’ry night,” Milah lies. She hates reading, and even as a kid, she hated being read to. And the reason why she's wearing a long-sleeved shirt is to cover up the tattoo on her wrist. Both of them wearing their beaded bracelets to cover up their tattoo would be too obvious.

 

There’s a bit of pain flickering in Killian’s eyes, and Emma can feel the blood bubbling under her skin. Milah is using all of Emma's tactics. She takes a small piece of knowledge about the mark and finds something relatable, working it into the conversation somehow and making sure to hit a sensitive nerve in the process. “I spent many nights being coaxed to sleep after my parents passed—I was raised by my uncle, and he read me that book, knowing my mum used to read it to me every night. It’s one of my favorites.”

 

Milah’s expression saddens as she places her hand on Killian’s arm. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear about your folks.”

 

“Thanks, love,” he says with a frail smile.

 

Milah lowers her hand, clutching onto the portfolio in her other arm again. “Mah folks… they died in a car accident after I was born, so I don’t even remember them,” she murmurs solemnly, managing to summon unshed tears in her eyes. “I absolutely love Potter’s stories, even as an adult, and I was especially inspired by her illustrations and started drawing animals mahself.”

 

Emma is inwardly rolling her eyes as her sister feeds him a load of fabricated crap. Milah does love to draw animals, birds are her favorite, but she wasn’t inspired by Beatrix Potter or any other artist. She was inspired by the boredom and depression of going from foster home to foster home. Drawing was and still is Milah’s escape from reality, much like music is for Emma.

 

“Would you like something to drink, lass?”

 

“Sure, I'd love some water if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

“Of course, I'll be right back.”

 

“Thanks so much.”

 

Once Killian disappears into the kitchen, Emma steps up to Milah, whispering loudly. “Trixy Byrd?!”

 

Milah shrugs. “What? It’s both clever and cute, don’t you think?” she replies, still using her fake _Texan_ accent.

 

Emma rolls her eyes, her words heavily laced with sarcasm. “Yeah, real cute.”

 

Killian comes back a moment later with the glass of water, handing it to Milah as she looks around. The living room is large and spacious with rustic beams and walls made of a bright, beautiful wood, and there are floor to ceiling windows on one side, affording a gorgeous view of the private beach and the crystal blue ocean. There’s also a fireplace that’s lit up, the fire crackling within the beautiful brick frame.

 

For someone so wealthy, Emma had been surprised when she’d first seen his house. She’d figured a guy that loaded would be living in a giant mansion, but then again Killian is not like any other rich man. He is kind and generous and truly good at heart, so really she shouldn't be surprised he resides in a cabin by the ocean.

 

“You have a very lovely home,” Milah compliments as she walks around, seeing the various photos of Killian and his friends and nautical decor on the walls and fireplace.

 

“Thank you, lass.”

 

“Why don't y’all walk me through and tell me what y’all are thinking about changin’,” Milah encourages, bringing her attention back to them.

 

“Well, as you can see, this place is more like a bachelor pad than a family home,” Killian comments, encasing Emma's hand in his as they begin leading Milah through the seaside home.

 

Milah nods in agreement, seeing the furniture and knick knacks around the house. “That was my thought exactly. There are lots of nautical elements and themes; it reminds me of a sailor’s home.”

 

“Exactly,” Killian agrees with a chuckle and lifts Emma's hand, placing a kiss to her knuckles. “And upstairs, you will see that a golfer definitely lives here. But see, my beautiful fiance and I just became betrothed, and we want this place to look like a husband and wife lives here, not a single seafarer.”

 

Emma’s heart flutters as the words “fiance” and “husband and wife” fall from his lips so naturally.

 

“Of course. You want some of her style and taste incorporated into the home. That's quite understandable,” Milah agrees with a nod.

 

“Aye, exactly.”

 

Milah peels her eyes away from the furniture and graces them with a warm smile. “Congratulations by the way. Y’all make a very lovely couple.”

 

“Thank you, _Trixy,”_ Emma speaks up, looking over at Killian and smiling at him as they reach the staircase. “We think so too.”

 

Killian blushes and grins, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “One of us is certainly lovely at least,” he says, winking at Emma before averting his attention to Milah. “What kind of billing method do you use, if I may ask?” he inquires as they make their way upstairs to the second level.

 

“I charge by the hour,” Milah answers, and Emma can tell she’s done her research because she seems confident and knowledgeable about the job. “But not until the first consultation.”

 

“Brilliant,” Killian says with a smile and releases Emma's hand, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as Emma curls her hand around his waist.

 

They reach one of the rooms, which is used for the various golf knick knacks, paraphernalia and trophy cups he’s won on tour.

 

“Love, perhaps we can empty this room to make way for a wee one in the future?” Killian suggests to Emma with a soft smile, eyes buzzing with warmth.

 

Her mouth falls open slightly, surprised by his words.

 

“Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Milah chips in brightly. “I can definitely see you two havin’ five or six beautiful ducklins and handsome sailors runnin’ around. Although, you might need a bigger house for that.”

 

Killian chuckles. “Actually we will end up purchasing a larger home in the future, but for now we’re taking it one step at a time. We’ve only been engaged for two days.”

 

“I agree. One baby is enough to think about for now,” Emma says with a small laugh. Since Milah is within striking distance as Killian is turning around and walking out the door, Emma gives a little, sharp nudge with her elbow to the brunette's ribs, almost causing the water to spill from her glass, which Emma notices is still full; Milah hasn’t even touched it yet.

 

“Ow, what was that for?” Milah whispers with a scowl and follows Emma out of the room.

 

“Do you mind if we see some samples of your previous projects,” Killian asks as they walk downstairs, “so we can get an idea of the work you’ve done in the past?”

 

“Of course,” Milah answers with a smile. “I want you to make sure you're fixin’ to hire the best person for the job. Why don't we have a seat and I’ll show you mah portfolio?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

The three of them reach the living room and settle on the sofa, Milah inserting herself in between Killian and Emma.

 

She sets down her portfolio in her lap and finally takes a sip of the glass of water in her hand. Killian and Emma patiently wait for her to showcase her “work” as she nurses the cool liquid, savoring it as though it’s her last drink of water.

 

“Excuse me, lass…” he finally speaks up, and Milah lowers the glass from her lips, turning her head to look at him questioningly. “Would it be possible for my fiance and I to take a peek at your work?”

 

Milah’s eyes widen in embarrassment. “Oh right, yes of course.” She picks up the portfolio from her lap, and while she opens up the large binder, the hand holding the glass “subconsciously” tilts to the left and the water spills all over Killian’s lap, making him gasp in surprise and at the coldness of the liquid seeping through his pants.

 

Milah quickly lifts her gaze, eyes widening with (false) humiliation. “Oh mah! I'm so sorry! I'm such a clodhopper!” She hastily reaches over Killian, making sure to brush her body against his as she grabs a sleeve of Kleenex from the end table on the other side of him. Emma doesn't like where this is going. Her stomach plummets at the thought. “Here, let me clean that up for you.” Milah starts wiping the tissue over his pants, and Emma has to do her best to remain calm and unfazed, but it's very difficult. Her body is shaking, guilt and jealousy flourishing in the pit of her stomach.

 

“That’s okay, Miss Byrd.”

 

“Trixy,” Milah corrects.

 

“Apologies, Trixy. I can dry myself off.”

 

“Oh no, it was mah fault. I'm so terribly sorry.” Milah moves the tissue to the wet spot on his groin and starts rubbing profusely to soak up the water, but Killian quickly deflects her movements and stands up.

 

“No really, it’s only water.” He sighs and rushes away, heading to the bathroom as Emma smirks to herself.

 

Normally men fall for this trick when it's her performing it, and normally they allow her to continue her ministrations of drying off their clothed groin for as long as she can get away with it, but she’s glad Killian hadn't taken the bait.

 

Milah’s not deterred though. Emma knows she has plenty more tricks up her sleeve.

 

When Killian comes back and takes his seat, Milah shows them her portfolio that’s full of photos she filched, floor plans, designs and sketches she actually contrived herself. “These are some projects I've worked on, and here is a complete outline of mah previous work experiences and education.” She hands him a resume she’d conjured up and makes up some tale about how she became a decorator. “Oh and here's a list of references,” Milah adds, pulling the page from her binder and handing it to him.

 

Killian scans it over, seeming unsure; he’s never heard of her nor the fake contacts she’s included, so Emma knows she’ll have to do a bit of persuading.

 

“Miss Byrd—I mean uhh, Trixy… may I have a word with my fiance for a moment?”

 

Milah quickly nods, her eyes fleeting between Emma and Killian. “Oh, yes of course. Please talk it over amongst yourselves. I can just git—”

 

Killian lays a hand on Milah’s arm when she tries to get up from the sofa. “No need to move. Emma and I will just go into the other room.”

 

He stands up and extends his hand to his fiance, helping her up.

 

“We’ll be right back,” he tells Milah.

 

She waves off his words. “Oh please, take your time.”

 

Emma and Killian walk out of the room and into the kitchen. As they turn to look at one another, the uncertainty he feels is evident in the lines of his face as he takes her hands in his.

 

“Honey, I think the drawings and photos are really nice, and I really like her style. Don’t you agree?” Emma asks him sweetly.

 

“Are you sure, love? We have more appointments lined up with other decorators we haven’t spoken with yet.”

 

Her features fall in disappointment. “I think Trixy will be perfect for what we’re looking for.” She lets out a small sigh, looking down at their joined hands. “But perhaps you’re right. There might be someone better. Besides, I don't even care what our house looks like, as long as we’re together and happy,” Emma assures him. She gazes up at Killian with a smile and places a soft kiss on his lips.

 

Killian graces her with a small grin, and Emma can visibly see him folding. “You are absolutely correct, darling. It doesn’t matter what the rooms look like. What matters is us being together and building our future together.” His cheeks are tinged with blush as he brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Alright, come, love,” he urges. Still holding one of her hands, he leads her out of the kitchen and back to where Milah is sitting.

 

She quickly stands up when she sees them. “I just wanna say that I am so happy for y’all, and I would be more than honored to turn the lovely house you have here into a wonderful home for y’all and your growin’ kin,” Milah offers hopefully. Much to Emma’s delight, Killian is nodding in acceptance of her proposal and shaking her hand again.

 

“Then congratulations, Trixy, you have the job. You’re our new interior decorator.”

 

Milah claps excitedly and throws her arms around Killian, hugging him.

 

_What the hell?_

 

Killian doesn’t reciprocate her advances, but Emma’s still uncomfortable by the sight. She’s not supposed to be jealous, but somehow she can’t help it. What is wrong with her? _Pull it together, Swan,_ she chides herself _. This will all be over soon._

### $*$*$

 

“Emma…”

 

Wrinkling her eyelids, she groans, feeling the weight of sleep in her bones.

 

“Emma, baby, wake up.”

 

Feeling a warm, gentle hand on her cheek, she slowly opens her eyes to the ocean blue irises staring at her through the slits of her lids. The view in front of her gradually widens, and she catches more of his gorgeous face—his perfect lips, the sharp stubble on his chin, his artfully tossed hair.

 

Her eyes briefly wander around the room, and she wonders how she ended up in his bedroom, sleeping in his soft sheets and blankets and on the pillow that smells like him. She remembers snuggling with Killian on the sofa and watching old movies on the television last night. But that’s as far back as she remembers.

 

“How did I get here?” she mumbles, her brows lazily weaving together in confusion. “Not that I'm complaining. I love that the sheets smells like you,” she admits with a warm smile.

 

Killian blushes, mirroring her grin and dropping a warm kiss to her forehead. She sighs pleasantly at his touch, stretching her limbs underneath the covers.

 

“You, my darling, were exhausted and fell asleep in my arms during the movie. I didn’t have the heart to wake you, so I carried you here and I slept in the guest room. My bed is far more comfortable.” He hands her a hot cup of Starbucks coffee, and Emma sits up to take a slow sip of it, enjoying the liquid gently hitting the inside of her mouth. “You were completely out of it, and didn’t wake one time while I carried you here,” Killian chuckles softly. He leans over when Emma lowers her cup, sprinkling several more kisses to her forehead, each cheek and her lips.

 

She manages a suppressed laugh through the foggy haze of sleep, missing the feel of his lips when he pulls away. “Well, this is certainly a nice way to wake up,” she mumbles, her words garbled as she takes another sip.

 

The last few weeks while on tour, they’d slept in separate hotel suites, and Killian had been the most perfect gentleman, respecting her boundaries. And it’s kind of funny because he wanted to take things slow by waiting to have sex, yet he also asked her to marry him. But she knows he mostly just wants to do right by her. Emma has told him about her past _non_ relationships and how she’s never been out on actual dates, so he's made it a life goal of his to court her properly.

 

Killian graces her with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief as he offers a hand. “It’s about to get even better.”

 

Emma’s eyes narrow at him, brows twisting together in curiosity. “Oh? How so?”

 

“Come, love. You'll see.”

 

She doesn't hesitate for one second, and takes his hand, removing herself from the bed. Emma's dressed in the clothes she was wearing last night—jeans and a t-shirt—as he takes her through the cabin and out the back door, onto the deck and down the steps to the sandy beach.

 

Emma is confused the entire time as they make their way to the nearby docks, Killian’s yacht waiting for them. “Where are we going?”

 

He smirks at her and proceeds to lead her to the boat. Emma boards it wearily, and it’s not until she does so when she realizes what is happening. Mary Margaret and David are there all dressed up, along with Smee in his naval uniform.

 

“Emma, darling, you remember Smee, right?”

 

She nods wearily. “Of course I do. He manned the yacht on our first date.”

 

“Aye, he did,” Killian smiles and takes her hand, dropping a delicate kiss to her fingers. “And today he’ll be marrying us.”

 

Her jaw drops, eyes widening in shock as she tries to speak. “But… I... I don't have a wedding dress yet.”

 

Killian is still grinning, not at all worried as he leads her below deck, taking her to the Captain’s quarters, and they step into the room. There’s a closet door, and on the hook hangs a black garment bag.

 

Emma eyes light up in bewilderment. She hasn't even picked out a dress.

 

“Go ahead love, open it up,” he encourages with a mischievous smirk.

 

Emma does what she’s asked, and steps up to the bag hanging from the door. Unzipping it, a slow smile takes over her lips when she lays eyes on what's inside the bag.

 

_“So, I don't wish to pressure you into picking a date, but whenever you're ready, we can make it official,” he assures her with a smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand._

 

_Emma is pulled from her trance, peeling her eyes away from the shop window where a wedding dress is being displayed. The champagne Mermaid tiered gown is gorgeous with beaded pearls, a sweetheart neckline and a lace feathered train, but the price tag is off putting. She may be a con artist and money grubber, manipulating men so she can steal from them, but she cannot find it within her to ask Killian to spend thousands of dollars on a dress when she’d only be wearing it with the intention of ripping his heart out. She’s not sure how Milah does this all the time, honestly, because one con, in which Emma is the primary, is already taking a toll on her._

 

_She is still bewildered that Killian didn't sign a prenup. He said if anything were to happen between them, he still wanted to make sure she was happy and set for life. Emma should feel completely giddy and relieved by this because she can walk away from this better off than she even imagined, but it only makes her feel worse._

 

_She looks at Killian, trying to take her mind off of the goal, and trying to enjoy the ice cream on her tongue as they stroll down the boardwalk. She licks her lips and leans into Killian’s side, pressing a chilly kiss to his warm cheek. “How about you pick? I'll pack a bag and choose a dress, and you can whisk me away when you feel like it's the right moment,” she encourages with a playful smile._

 

_Killian chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Sounds perfect.”_

 

“You were unaware of this at the time, but I saw your eyes on the dress a few days ago, and I think we both know it's perfect for you.”

 

“But Killian, I can’t—I mean this dress was too much money,” she says, still in shock.

 

“Love, I’m not worried about the cost. I only want you to be happy.”

 

“I am happy just by being with you and getting married to you.”

 

“I know that sweetheart, and look, if you don’t want the dress—”

 

“No, I do, it’s just—I love the dress, but I don’t want you to think you have to buy me something every time I have my eyes on something.”

 

“Swan, I know I didn’t have to, but I _wanted_ to. You are about to be my wife, and I want my wife to have everything she deserves. I wanna give you everything I have,” he confesses, with conviction, his words wrecked with the truth they hold.

 

Emma swallows thickly, offering a small smile. “Thank you. The dress is absolutely gorgeous.”

 

Killian lets out a long breath he’d been holding and smirks, curling his hands around her hips and pressing his forehead against hers. “Not as gorgeous as you, my love.”

 

Emma’s heart flutters and she blushes, resting her hands on his chest and feeling the pulse of his heart underneath. She's not sure if she should be devastated about what this all means or what will follow, or if she should just enjoy the dress and this day. She's extremely torn, but as Killian let's Mary Margaret into the room, the brunette’s cheerful demeanor somehow magically puts Emma at ease.

 

“I’ll let you get ready, darling,” Killian says, kissing her sweetly. Emma indulges in the warmth and softness of his lips before he pulls away, feeling more calm than before. “I'll see you on deck,” he says with a wink and a grin.

 

“See you there,” she smiles, and he reluctantly turns away, disappearing behind the door.

 

“Oh Emma, this so exciting,”Mary Margaret chants, taking Emma's hands in hers. “At first David and I weren't so sure you and Killian should be getting married so quickly, but we’ve seen how happy you both are around each other and well, we’re on board with it,” she says with a laugh. “No pun intended.”

 

Emma titters with her and draws her into a warm hug.

 

Over the past few weeks, this woman has become a friend to Emma, and she can't help but be excited when the brunette offers to help with her hair and makeup. Besides, she might as well enjoy this day and her time with Killian while it lasts.

 

The woman rubs her chin, red lips pursed in contemplation. “Now, what to do with your hair...”

### $*$*$

 

“We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Killian Jones and Emma Swan,” Smee begins, and Emma can't help but smile, only focused on Killian’s intense gaze as he grins at her without apology, his dreamy, blue eyes so full of love and devotion and _trust._ Ever since he’d seen her in the dress she's wearing he hasn't been able to take his eyes off of her, but she knows he's been bewitched by her for much longer than that. And he looks so gorgeous wearing an Italian tux she had custom made for him—a black suit with a red vest and bowtie—it's extremely unfair how good he looks. He is perfect in every way, and she doesn't feel guilty for being here with him on his yacht, exchanging vows. Any woman would be a fool not to want this with him.

 

The sky's the bluest she’s ever seen, but not as blue as his dazzling eyes, and the clean white clouds are brushed across the sky as the hull slices through the liquid aqua blue, breaking the waves with a gentle bobbing motion, white ripples of water cresting at the bows.

 

As their hands are joined and their vows are spoken, there is a waterfall to the port, and the water is gushing down over the rocks like a wall of blue satin threaded with silver.

 

David is capturing the entire thing on camera from where he stands next to his wife, but it’s for Emma and Killian’s private viewing only.

 

Never in Emma's life has she felt like a princess, but with Killian, there's not a day that goes by when she doesn't. And as her gaze wanders off, seeing the Nolan couple who are watching them with warm smiles and tearful eyes, Emma's heart aches.

 

Her eyes fleet to Killian’s and she realizes one thing is true. She realizes the words she recites as she repeats after Smee, she is speaking from her heart, not because she has to, and not because she doesn't want to ruin the moment. She realizes she can’t go through with the con, but it's not because of Regina or her threats. It's because Emma _loves_ him. She's helplessly and hopelessly in love with him, and she doesn't have it in her to break his heart. She also can’t tell him the truth because she knows that will hurt him more than not saying anything at all. Is she ready to marry him? Absolutely not, but she’s also not ready to let him go. So, as this wonderful, amazing man gazes back at her with those peaceful, cerulean eyes, she makes a choice.

 

“Do you, Killian, take this woman, Emma Swan, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live?”

 

Killian nods, giving Emma’s hands a gentle squeeze. “I do.”

 

He never takes his hypnotizing eyes off of her for one second nor does his smile ever fade, and she gets so lost in his stare, she almost misses her cue.

 

“Do you, Emma, take this man, Killian Jones, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

 

Emma nods, and in that moment she only sees Killian, and no one else. She only sees the way he looks at her, like there is no one else in this world, and there's this shimmer of hope embedded in his eyes, she can't say anything except, “I do.”

 

They exchange the rings, each making their pledge to one another before sliding the band on the other’s ring finger. Emma's heart is racing—she still can't believe she is seconds away from being married. This is all supposed to be fake, but her feelings for him are _real._

 

“By the power vested in me by the State of Florida, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Smee smirks at Killian, winking at him. “You may now kiss your bride.”

 

Killian doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist, his mouth crushing hers in a way she's never experienced before. She immediately responds, parting her lips and wrapping her arms around the back of his neck as he dips her, one of his hands placed on her back to hold her securely in his arms. Killian angles his head, deepening the kiss and sliding his tongue in her mouth. Sparks fly down her spine as their tongues meet before he carefully brings her back up. Her cheeks are flushed when they part, and she feels a bit dizzy as she tries to catch her breath.

 

“We did it, love,” he whispers with a smile, still holding her in his arms. “We’re married.”

 

Emma laughs feebly. “We certainly are.”

 

It's not until they break apart when she notices David, Mary Margaret and Smee are all clapping and whistling and cheering.

### $*$*$

 

When Emma was a little girl, she had imagined her wedding day would be the happiest day of her life, but how can she be happy knowing what she’s trying to do to this man? Emma knows she's supposed to enjoy this, but how can she? She feels the guilt in the pit of her stomach, and yet she doesn't have the guts to tell him the truth, because now the last thing she wants to do is hurt him.

 

“What is troubling my gorgeous bride?”

 

Emma closes her eyes and cracks a small smile when she feels his arms wrapping around her waist and his warm lips on her neck. She instantly feels a thousand times lighter whenever he holds her in his arms. She rests her arms on his, and threads their fingers together, the light breeze kissing her skin as the boat glides across the water.

 

The view is perfect, and the man holding her as he presses soothing kisses to her cheek is even more perfect, and really she can't be anything but happy because if not for the con, she never would've come to Palm Beach, and she never would have met him.

 

“Nothing’s worrying me,” she answers, releasing his hands and turning around in his arms. “But I'm pretty sure Marco's going to fire me for all the work I've been missing,” she laughs, snaking her arms around the back of his neck.

 

A smile pulls at his lips as he tightens his hold around her. “Don't worry about that. I've already informed him of your absences.”

 

Arching a thin brow, she eyes him in surprise. “You did?”

 

“Aye, love, don’t worry about work,” he murmurs softly, nuzzling his nose against hers. “It's our wedding day. You're only allowed to have nice thoughts on your wedding day.”

 

Emma can't help but smile at his words, her eyes flickering from his dazzling blue orbs to his perfect lips as she bites her bottom one. “You mean like our honeymoon?” she asks playfully, curling her fingers around the collar of his dress shirt.

 

Killian chuckles, squeezing her hips a little tighter and leaning in until their lips are just centimeters apart. “Aye, like our honeymoon.”

 

Emma looks up at him, batting her eyelashes and hoping he will divulge to her where exactly they’re heading. Not that it matters. She’d go anywhere with this man. “You're still not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

 

Killian shakes his head, flashing a cheeky grin. “Not a chance.” He cups her face in his hands, and brings her lips to his. With a soft sigh, she parts her mouth, eyelids fluttering shut as his tongue sweeps against hers, wrapping her arms snugly around the back of his neck. She indulges in the kiss, pressing her body against his, the entire world fading out into the distance. Angling their heads in opposite directions, they deepen the kiss, Killian uttering a soft growl when she tugs on his bottom lip with her teeth.

 

Feeling the heat building between them, the urgency of their lips and tongues moving in cadence with one another, is the moment when it dawns on Emma just what is to come. Originally, the plan was to pretend she was sick during the honeymoon because the most important rule she’d learned from Mal was to never sleep with the mark. But Killian is no longer a mark to Emma.

 

“Alright, you two, we know you just exchanged vows, but normally newly weds wait until their honeymoon to consummate the marriage.”

 

“Yeah, you know, when the guests aren't present.”

 

Emma is so lost in her husband’s _(wow, it's weird thinking of him as such)_ kiss, she almost doesn't hear Mary Margaret's and David’s teasing words.

 

Killian and Emma break away, both blushing profusely and catching their breaths, eyes glazed over and lips red and swollen as they float back to reality. Killian is wearing his signature smirk, an eyebrow arched as he turns to look at his agent.

 

“Apologies, we just got carried away,” he musters, his voice completely wrecked.

 

“We’ll let it slide this time, but don't make us throw you both overboard to cool you off,” David threatens playfully.

 

The four of them share a laugh, and the newly weds hug the Nolan couple, thanking them for being witnesses.

 

The trip, wherever they are going, takes all day, and by the time the yacht reaches its destination, the anticipation is built so high, Emma has completely forgotten about her conscience. They arrive at a private island, where Emma and Killian get dropped off, and they gather their bags and bid farewell to the others before leaving the yacht.

 

They make their way through the veranda of a beautiful beach home on the secluded island, and Killian places their luggage on the ground when she walks ahead of him, heading for the door.

 

“Not so fast, love.”

 

All of a sudden she feels the warmth of his hands around her when he scoops her into his arms, and spins her around as she wraps her arms around his neck. Emma giggles, feeling dizzy, but not because of the motion. She playfully shoves at his chest rolling her eyes as he uses his hand to turn the knob and his back to push open the door.

 

“Sorry, love, but not only am I gentleman, I'm also a lad of tradition… Mrs. Emma Swan-Jones,” he teases playfully with a smirk as he carries her over the threshold.

 

“Mrs. Emma Swan-Jones,” she repeats with a contemplative stare and a smile. “I'm starting to get used to that name already.”

 

“Good,” he replies, gently setting his wife down on her feet.

 

She immediately looks around, marveling at the features of the home they'll be residing in for a few days as he retrieves their bags and sets them on the floor. She goes over to a wall of large windows that looks out over the ocean, capturing the brilliant colors masking the sky. Opening the door to the terrace, Emma steps out, letting her eyes fall shut as she basks in the warm evening air, letting the gentle breeze dance along her skin.

 

Killian leaves her be for a while, most likely to begin unpacking, but soon enough, she’s hearing the door being opened and the sound of her husband approaching. Her skin is ignited before he even touches her, and the feel of his arms surrounding her waist warms her body even more, his chin resting atop the crown of her head.

 

“The view is quite breathtaking,” he whispers into her ear, sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

 

“Yes, the ocean at sunset really is,” she agrees, encasing his arms with hers.

 

“I'm not talking about the sunset,” he says, nosing her ear and smirking against her skin. “I'm speaking of my gorgeous bride.”

 

Emma's heart flutters, cheeks flooding with blush as she turns around in his arms, peering up at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. This has all been so amazing and perfect. And this place… it's so…”

 

“Peaceful?” he guesses with a laugh. “Serene… quiet?”

 

“Yes, how did you know I'd love it?” she teases playfully, resting her hands on his chest.

 

He smiles, caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I know you,” he replies simply. “I’ve known you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. You were gazing across the ocean admiring the beauty, but also longing for some semblance of normalcy in your life. Searching for some place or someone to call home—the same as I was. I’ve been around the world, and yet I find myself on this secluded island, knowing my home is right here with you.”

 

“I know exactly what you mean.” She smiles brightly at him, her eyes tearing up. If only he knew who she really was—everything she’s done. It would ruin him. “You really do see me, don't you?” she whispers.

 

He nods, kissing her lips softly.

 

Eventually they make their way inside again, and Emma finds the bedroom filled with lit candles, rose petals strewn all along the floor and across the bed. There is soft music pouring from the suite, and she turns her head towards it to find Killian standing in the doorway holding two glasses of red wine.

 

Sauntering over to him, she bites her bottom lip, and accepts the glass he hands her.

 

“What's all this?” she asks with a bit of mirth in her tone, knowing exactly what he's up to. It’s seduction 101—setting the mood for… romance. Emma shivers pleasantly at the thought.

 

“Well, it's our first night as husband and wife, and I want it to be a special evening for us—a night to remember,” he explains with a smile, his cheeks and ears tinted with blush.

 

Emma takes a sip of her wine, the anticipation burning inside her, blood running hot. It's maddening how this man has made her want him so much. A little liquid courage is a good thing, she deems, swallowing it down and lowering her glass.

 

“Come, love,” he extends his free hand, and she doesn't hesitate to slide her fingers into his palm, grasping on and letting him lead her to the bathroom. She steps inside behind him, seeing more candles lit, along with a large Jacuzzi humming gently and the water inside bubbling up from the jets.

 

A pleasant buzz crawls over her skin, but it's not because of the small amount of alcohol in her system.

 

“Shall we?” Killian asks warmly, gesturing towards the tub.

 

Emma walks over and runs a hand through the hot, bubbly water, setting her wine glass down on the edge of the tub. Killian sneaks up behind her and swipes her hair aside, his lips descending to her neck. Her breath catches, pulse quickening at the feel of his lips, so soft and warm. He runs a hand down the length of her arm, sending sparks through her body as he unzips her gown with the other. Since the wedding wasn't planned or traditional, she's not wearing a garter belt, or anything else underneath for that matter, but when Killian pushes the dress off her shoulders and down to the floor, he doesn't seem to mind.

 

She steps out of the fabric that's pooled around her feet and turns to unbutton his collared shirt, their eyes locked on one another. She can tell he's trying desperately not to look at her body; he’s trying to be a gentleman, but his blue depths are glazed over with a controlled longing for his new bride. Emma undoes his belt and unfastens his pants, aiding him to strip away all of his clothes, the anticipation rising higher and higher. With all their clothing on the floor, she doesn't look at his body just yet, only his hypnotizing eyes.

 

Instead, she turns away from him and eases her way slowly into the tub. Killian watches with hungry eyes as each inch of her naked skin sinks further and further, disappearing into the water.

 

Emma anchors herself in a comfortable spot, enjoying the jets hitting her skin, the water bubbling and rolling into her as she watches her husband join her in the tub, his shaft long and hard already. She bites on her bottom lip, restraining herself from pouncing on him (just yet).

 

They sit for a while relishing in each other’s company and the soft music. Emma takes a sip of her wine and closes her eyes briefly, enjoying the soothing feel of the heated water and soothing jets.

 

“Love you were stunning in that dress of yours, but somehow you’re even more beautiful in candlelight,” he compliments playfully, breaking the silence.

 

Opening her eyes, heat overwhelms her cheeks, but the Jacuzzi water has nothing to do with it. “Everyone looks better in candlelight,” she retaliates, moving from her spot and boldly making her way over to him.

 

Killian watches with uninterrupted interest, his eyes dancing with curiosity as she closes the distance between them.

 

Her smirk is full of mischief as she rises slightly, her breasts emerging from the surface of the water as she climbs atop his lap and straddles him. Killian’s hands instantly gravitate to her waist and snake around to her backside, pulling her closer to him. She sinks into his lap, curling her arms around the back of his neck, her fingers carding through his hair.

 

He responds instantly, emitting a soft groan and losing a breath at the contact. He feels so incredibly good in between her thighs, she has to restrain herself immensely. She leans into him, their lips dangerously close as he finally manages to give her a reply. “I don't know,” he murmurs, licking his lips. He peers down to catch a glimpse of her breasts before lifting his eyes to hers. “I don't think anyone can compare to your beauty.”

 

Emma leans in and captures his lips, kissing him languidly, her glistening breasts brushing against him. Her nipples are buried in his chest hair, stiffening against his skin as she starts grinding into him. Emma hums in pleasure as he hardens even more, emitting a guttural groan.

 

“Let's move this to the bedroom,” he whispers, his breathing ragged against her lips.

 

She doesn’t argue with him, and untangles herself from his hold, stepping out of the tub. She grabs two towels from the rack, drying herself with one as she waits for him to leave the tub. His eyes are hooded, water droplets dripping down his muscular body and onto the floor when he emerges from the tub. Never breaking eye contact with her, he accepts the offered towel and dries himself off, following Emma into the bedroom.

 

Emma turns around to face him, placing her hands on his shoulders as he takes her hips in his grasp, walking her backwards until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed. His hands rise to cup her cheeks, bringing her into a passionate kiss as he lowers her slowly onto the bed, his body looming over Emma’s.

 

His kisses are a wonderful mixture of intense and delicate, sinful and sweet, his lips so soft, yet firm and insistent. She melts into the mattress, accepting everything he gives her.

 

Through the heavy cloud of lust, everything inside of her is telling her not to do this, but her body has different ideas, her hands running up his muscular arms.

 

Killian releases her lips, leaving them gasping for air, his hot, shallow breaths racing over her skin. Dragging his mouth over her jawline, he leaves a blazing hot trail of kisses down her neck.

 

She closes her eyes, running her hands through his hair, a moan escaping her lips when he pulls the skin of her pulse point into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the spot with delicious assault. Her center grows hot and wet, desire racing through her body.

 

“Killian…” It's a whisper barely leaving her lips.

 

He immediately responds, tearing his mouth from her neck and lifting his head to look over her. Emma opens her eyes, her stare heavy with lust, but also holding the love she feels for him. “Emma, if you don't want to do this, I will stop.”

 

“No, it's not that.” She swallows thickly, trying to decide whether to go through with this or not. Lord knows she wants to, but not knowing what she almost did to him. She should just fake sick like originally planned or just tell him the truth.

 

His lips twitch into a smile, his hand swiping the hair away from her face. “What is it, love?”

 

She sees the love and warmth pooling in those deep blue eyes as he patiently awaits her answer.

 

She can't find it within her to disappoint him.

 

“I love you, Killian,” she confesses in a whisper, realizing it's the first time she’s said those words to any man. And it's the truest words she's ever expressed. “I've never said that to anyone before.”

 

His lips blossom into a grin, eyes lighting up with emotion as he gently caresses her cheek. “I love you, too. And I've never said that to anyone before you.” His words are cracked, full of sincerity and warmth. Emma can't help but present him with a smile, her hand brushing over the apple of his cheek as they marvel over the fact that they're each other's first love.

 

“I want you to make love to me.”

 

A breath rushes past his lips as he looks down at her with wide eyes, the blue irises almost completely shadowed by his pupils. “As you wish,” he whispers and kisses her again, pressing his body into hers, both of them aching with need.

 

He kisses his way down her neck, making a trail of fleeting marks over her collarbone and down her chest. One of his hands reach for her breast, thumb rolling over her nipple and fingers kneading into her supple skin.

 

She moans, sinking her head back into the pillow, the pink bud stiffening under his touch. She’s ached for him for so long, every pull and every caress makes her squirm underneath him.

 

Licking his lips as he admires her peaks, Killian lowers his head, drawing a warm breast in his mouth. Emma whimpers at every nip, every lick and every time he draws in a hardened nipple with those soft, luscious lips, exploring each one with equal care and attention.

 

Each breath is short and delayed as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and reaches her hand in between their bodies, rubbing his hardened length. He feels just as good as he looks, and if she doesn't have this man soon, she might burst.

  
Killian groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head, his erection twitching in her grasp. He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away, his eyes immediately connecting with hers, a look of uncertainty crossing his face.

 

“What is it?” she asks, her brows furrowed in confusion.

 

“Nothing, it’s just… do you want me to wear protection?”

 

Emma thinks about it for a second and shakes her head. “No, unless you want to. I’m on birth control.”

 

“In that case, I’m okay without one, love,” he assures her.

 

With that decided, he showers her lips with more kisses, his thick length pressing hard against her hip. Emma moans softly, spreading her legs apart and guiding the tip of him to her aching entrance.

 

They gasp at the connection, and Emma releases him, clutching at his shoulders and biting her bottom lip in anticipation. Soon Killian’s pushing into her, deliciously spreading her open for him.

 

The stretch is a bit painful at first, even with her arousal coating her walls, and the noise she makes in response is a sharp whine as she’s rolling her hips into him and begging for more.

 

Killian moves slowly inside her and they both find a pleasing rhythm, trying to make this last as long as they can. This is not only their first time making love as husband and wife, but it's also their very first time making love with each other, and she can tell he doesn’t wish to spoil it

 

“Gods, love,” he groans breathlessly, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs, “you feel incredible...”

 

She moans, her entire body beginning to tremble as he drags his length along her walls so perfectly and flawlessly while whispering sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how much he loves her.

 

“Killian… oh God.” Feeling her release encroaching, she wraps her legs more snuggly around his hips, hands moving to his shoulder blades, gripping him tightly. Killian responds quickly and increases the pace, rocking deeper inside her warmth and capturing her lips.

 

Emma gets lost in his kiss as he gets lost inside of her. She never knew she could feel like this—in love, being made love to and treated like a royal princess. She never knew love could feel this good, but it truly does.

 

Killian’s breaths are shaky as her walls begin to flutter around him. They swallow each other's moans, tongues sweeping to taste each other and heads angling to deepen the kiss. Their muffled sounds of passion permeate the room each time he moves inside of her.

 

Deeper and deeper he sinks into her warmth, filling her to the hilt, each thrust bringing both of them closer to ecstasy.

 

Killian reaches between them to find where they're connected, his thumb feathering that spot which has her reeling with pleasure, her back arching off the bed and breasts pressed into his chest hair. She can almost taste her release, her mouth falling open with a soft cry, nails digging into his back and her toes curling into the bed sheets.

 

With his rough, insistent thrusts, crafty fingers and loving words in her ear, he brings her there, a slew of curses pouring from her lips as she falls blissfully, chanting his name like it's a prayer. He groans at the way she comes around him, and soon she’s pulling him under the current with her demanding walls, flushed face and incoherent praises, her body writhing underneath him.

 

He groans, pumping his seed deep inside his bride, hips slowing once they've both reached their peaks. His body gives out, falling limp into her, fatigue starting to overtake them. Their audible, labored breaths fill the space around them as they slowly float from their highs.

 

After a while, they change positions, Killian on his back while Emma rests her head on his chest, feeling warm and secure with a protective arm around her.

 

He presses a kiss to her disheveled hair, his hand gently stroking her back. “I love you,” he whispers.

 

Emma offers a sleepy smile, her eyelids falling shut. “I love you, too.”

 

Killian lifts her hand, and she thinks he’ll press a kiss to her wrist, but instead he stills. “That's odd,” he remarks before sleep can take her completely.

 

“What is it?” she asks, her voice raspy with tiredness.

 

“I didn't know you had a tattoo.”

 

Emma's eyes bulge out instantly, panic surging through her blood as she looks up at him. She’d completely forgotten about her tattoo. Killian was not supposed to see it.

 

“Um yeah, I got it when I was young, and normally I keep it hidden,” she admits, trying to mask the fear pulling at her gut.

 

“Why? I like it. It suits you,” he comments with a languid, post-sex smile.

 

“Yeah, but it's just a reminder of my past. It was intended as a symbol of freedom, of what I became from being a foster kid, but the tattoo just brings back painful memories,” she explains, which is true, but she doesn't normally cover it up unless it’s for a con.

 

“Ah, I see, love. And I get it. We all have reminders of our past when all we want to do is forget.”

 

“What about you? What does your tattoo signify? Did you get it because your brother died serving in the Navy?”

 

Killian nods and lifts his arm, peering down at the compass rose design on the inside of his wrist. “Aye. My brother had an identical one for luck when he was out at sea, but obviously the damn thing didn't bloody work,” he deadpans with a heavy sigh.

 

Emma runs her hand along his tattoo, tracing the intricate lines and curves with the tip of her index finger, her touch putting him at ease.

 

“For sailors, it symbolizes being able to find their way home again once out at sea. Mine used to be a reminder of the past. Now it's a symbol of how I have found my home. It's a symbol of finding you, love.”

 

Emma offers a feeble smile, feeling like a complete ass. Why did she have to choose him as a mark? Why didn't she listen to her sister in the first place? Nestling her face in his chest again, she tries not to think about what she’d almost tried to do. All she can do is try and fix it.

 

As soon as she gets back, she's going to tell Milah she's calling off the con.

 

Killian tightens his hold around her and presses a sweet kiss to her tattoo. Emma closes her eyes, basking in the surrounding warmth and allowing herself to be lulled to sleep by the tranquil sound of the ocean waves crashing into the shore and the soothing rhythm of her husband’s heartbeat.


	10. Final Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two more chapters after this, and I'm so sad this story is coming to end soon but I've had so much fun reading all of your reviews. Because someone had mentioned this, I wanted to clarify that Killian's character is in no way based on Jack in Heartbreakers, in case you've seen the movie and haven't already figured that out, and I love that one of you mentioned it! Killian may be a fool in love, but he's certainly not a hopeless spineless sap, so please don't expect Emma to be let off scot-free - but you will see how things turn out very soon. 
> 
> Here we go!

**_~Rule #10: Keep your eyes on the finish line. You're about to rip the rug from underneath his feet, flip his world upside down and destroy everything he’s worked so hard for, so whatever you do, don’t let anything or anyone get in your way, no matter what. Put on the show of your life, but your heart must remain of steel when you rip his out and let it crumble in between your fingers.~_ **

 

The early morning light illuminates softly through the bedroom windows, creating a warm glow in the room. Killian is lying on his stomach as he starts to stir in the tangled blankets and sheets, the delicious aroma of coffee intriguing his senses. Turning his head away from the intrusive light, he instinctively reaches out towards the other side of the bed, but instead of finding his wife, he finds her side empty. Gradually opening his groggy eyes, he lifts his head to confirm his Swan is not there.

 

Mustering the energy from his tired bones, he slowly makes his way out of bed, pulls on a pair of boxers and goes in search of her.

 

He once again finds Emma sitting out on the terrace, this time in a light blue nighty, staring out over the ocean and nursing a coffee. He doesn't blame her though. The sound of the waves and seagulls are soothing, and the gentle breeze feels quite perfect.

 

Killian grins at the sight and comes up behind her, wrapping her up in his embrace. “Aren't I the one who's supposed to be the early riser?” he teases playfully.

 

Emma shudders in his hold, turning her head and offering a smile smile. “I just woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep.”

 

“How come, darling? What's on your mind?”

 

Emma shrugs softly. “I just realized last night how little we really know about each other.” She turns around in his arms, looking up at him. “I mean, aren't married couples supposed to know every little thing, like the tattoos they have and what the other likes in bed? We've never even seen each other naked until last night.”

 

Killian’s features fall in disappointment. Was he not adequate enough for her? He thought she’d enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had, but maybe he was mistaken. “Was I… did I do something wrong?” he asks, worry lacing his tone.

 

Emma shakes her head, a smirk curving her lips. “No, of course not. You were... incredible.”

 

Killian sighs in relief, his expression relaxing a bit. “Then what's the problem, sweetheart?” he asks softly. “Not all couples have sex before marriage.”

 

“I know… but those people normally know everything else about their partner. And we didn’t. We still don't.”

 

“Emma, we have from now until the end of time to get to know each other,” he points out in a hopeful tone. “Are you regretting getting married too soon?”

 

Emma shakes her head, pursing her lips in contemplation, her eyes full of conflict. “No, I'm not, I just... there are some things I need to tell you.”

 

Killian places the pad of his index finger on her lips to stop her from saying anything more. “It can wait. Our honeymoon is supposed to be relaxing, not stressful,” he reminds her.

 

Emma looks like she still wants to tell him something, but right now he has other ideas as he takes the coffee cup from her hand and places it on the outdoor table.

 

“I want my wife to feel pampered and loved appropriately, not worried or discouraged.” Before she can respond, Killian is running his hands down her exquisite curves, following the trail down her clothed body with his lips. She shows him no resistance and is already responding with a soft moan, her body molding into his touches.

 

He kneels down in front of his sweet goddess, lifting her leg over his shoulder. She braces back against the railing as he sneaks his head underneath her gown and uses his mouth and fingers on her, caressing her folds and enjoying her sweetness on his tongue. Hearing her soft curses above him, he eagerly explores his wife, devouring her in his mouth and pumping his fingers into her heat. It's not long before he’s pulling her into the abyss, her walls fluttering around his tongue as she offers all of her essence to him, crying out into the open, morning air.

 

Licking his lips, he picks her up and carries her back to bed where they display their affections with gentle caresses, satisfying strokes and sweet kisses. They explore every inch of skin, every line and every curve, memorizing and getting to know each other’s body more thoroughly. They stay in bed long into the late afternoon until they finally remove themselves to shower and make breakfast together.

### $*$*$

 

Emma wants to stay on the island with Killian forever, but alas, real life forces them to go back. After getting back from their honeymoon very late, Emma drives to work early in the morning, while he visits the driving range.

 

She has this foreign feeling blooming inside her. She’s never been this happy before, and can’t say she hates the feeling. There’s just a tiny problem of having to tell Milah to call off the con, though, but she hopes to quickly rectify that.

 

She dials Milah’s number during her drive to work and it rings a few times before her sister answers.

 

“Hey?” Milah’s words are laced with confusion. Emma really has no reason to call her, because the plan is already set in motion. They never talk to each other between the wedding and the carefully planned affair, so neither will get doubts or mixed feelings, and neither one will be influenced by the other to back out. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah…” Emma takes a deep, shaky breath, not sure how to form in words what she wants to tell her sister. “Actually, no, not really,” she confesses, the inside of her stomach twisting with nerves, like it’s filled with snakes.

 

“What is it? If you’re worried about how things will go, please don't. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

 

“It’s not that,” Emma begins, and she’s feeling conflicted. She knows she has to fess up and tell Milah the truth, but at the same time she doesn’t want to disappoint her sister. She also doesn't want to hurt Killian. It’s a lot like she’s choosing between them, and her loyalty should be leaning towards Milah, but her heart is going off in an entirely different direction. “I’m calling off the con,” Emma blurts out loud, and the silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Emma starts to panic, not knowing exactly how Milah is reacting to this.

 

“You wanna what?” Milah questions finally, after an eternity, or so it feels, her tone hinting towards anger and irritation.

 

Emma’s heart is hammering so fast, she’s not sure if she can tell her sister how she really feels exactly. “I… I can’t go through with it.”

 

Milah emits a strangled noise and Emma has to hold the phone away, her features twisting in confusion. Is Milah really laughing?

 

Holding the phone to her ear again, Emma can still hear her laughing for several more seconds before the sound finally dies in Milah’s throat.

 

“Oh Emma, that’s a good one. You really had me going for a sec.”

 

“No, I’m serious, Mi. I can’t go through with this.”

 

“And why not?” Milah’s tone is much more serious, and Emma can tell she is not thrilled by this revelation.

 

Chewing on her bottom lip, Emma throws around the idea of telling her the truth because isn’t that the whole point of this conversation—to tell Milah the truth? “Because I’m in love with Killian.”

 

Again there is silence, and it’s completely overwhelming. She needs something; _any_ sort of response will do, really, but there’s nothing for what feels like several minutes.

 

“Milah?”

 

“I cannot believe this. You’re the one who begged me to go along with this. Ever since you saw that damn golfer, you have nothing but insisted that he is the one who will get us to Hawaii.”

 

“Milah—”

 

“No, let me finish.” Her tone is sharp, full of fire as she continues. “You swore up and down you could do this. You said ‘trust me, sis. I won’t let you down, I promise,’ so I agreed, even though I knew it wasn’t the best decision.”

 

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help the way I feel. Do you really think I wanted this? I mean after everything we’ve done so far, do you think I wanted to let you down? It hurts like hell knowing I did,” Emma admits, her voice cracking with apology. “I really wanna make this up to you, but right now I just need to know you won’t go through with this.”

 

Milah sighs through the phone, and Emma can sense her resolve is weakening. “Fine, I won’t. Your feelings are more important than the con.”

 

Emma is flooded with relief, and she takes a deep breath, releasing all of the stress she had felt from thinking about Milah going through with the plan. “Thank you Mi. I really owe you one.”

 

“Big time,” Milah agreas with a laugh.

 

Emma smiles, knowing that everything will be okay. Or at least she hopes. She still has to tell Killian the truth, as much as it will hurt. She cares for him too much to _not_ tell him. She just hopes she doesn't lose him after she does. “How about I start off with a thank you meal from TooJay’s Deli after I get out of work,” Emma offers, knowing their corned beef and pastrami sandwich is Milah’s favorite.

 

“I’ll take it,” Milah accepts rather quickly, her words edged with excitement. “When do you think you’ll be home?”

 

Emma looks at the clock below her dashboard. It normally takes fifteen minutes to get from Marco’s to her house, but since she has to stop at the deli first, she knows it will be longer than that. “Well, based on the traffic, I wanna say two, two thirty is that too late?”

 

“No it's perfect. Can’t wait.”

### $*$*$

 

Entering the driving range he’s grown so familiar with, Killian wipes the sweat from his brow. He’s prepared for a morning of practice in the sweltering heat, reflecting on the honeymoon and the wonderful time he’d had with Emma.

 

Killian knew he’d be taking a risk proposing so soon and getting married not long after, but he doesn’t regret any of it. He’s incredibly happy, and he never thought he could be—not until Emma had entered his life.

 

He’s looking forward to the future awaiting him and his wife—a future of Emma being by his side, both of them supporting each other in any possible way, a future of loving Emma until his heart no longer beats in his chest. He’s also looking forward to telling the whole world he’s married to the most beautiful woman on the planet.

 

“Hook, I should’ve known you’d be back here practicing for the next game right after your honeymoon.”

 

Regina’s playful words surprise him before he can hit the ball in front of him, and he looks over, seeing her striding over to him holding a manilla envelope in her hands. Still gripping onto the club, he greets her with a blushing smile before returning his focus to the range in front of him. “So you’ve heard?” He swings and hits the ball, letting it cut through the air, and he watches it land before turning around to face Regina once more.

 

The woman nods, closing the distance between them and standing in front of him. “Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

 

“And let me guess who told you—Mary Margaret?”

 

Regina laughs. “Come on Hook, you know she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

 

Killian nods in agreement. He likes to give his agent the benefit of the doubt, but she’s been known to let things slip out once in a while when she gets too excited. “So, what can I do you for?”

 

Her face becomes more serious, concern washing over her features. “Look, Killian, I really wish you would have told me you were getting married to Miss Swan, because then I could’ve warned you.”

 

“It’s Mrs. Swan-Jones now,” he corrects, lifting a brow as his smile dims; he suddenly has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Warn me about what?”

 

Regina sighs and peers down at the folder in her hands. “Well you know whenever I have a bad feeling about something, I can’t let it go. I end up turning to Sydney to gather information and ease my mind.”

 

“Regina, who did you spy on?” he demands, growing irritated. He hates when she uses Sydney to do her dirty work. Hell, he hates that she always has to go digging up dirt in the first place. Everyone has a thing or two from the past they want to keep buried, so what gives this woman the right to go and uncover those things and stir up trouble?

 

“Killian, I don’t know how to tell you this. Maybe we should go inside so you can sit down for this?” she suggests, glancing up at him.

 

“I’m fine right here. Just tell me,” he says, agitation lacing his words. He doesn’t like to be interrupted during his practice, to be messed with, and Regina has a really bad habit of doing that.

 

“Alright fine, I’ll be up front with you then. Emma Swan is not who you think she is.”

 

Anger bubbles under his skin. This woman had the audacity to go and dig up information on his wife? “Bloody hell, Regina, I don’t wanna hear this.”

 

“Oh believe me, you need to know this. The woman is playing you.”

 

Killian’s already heard enough. He turns around, sliding his club into his bag. “I don’t believe this. I’m finally happy, and you have to go and try to spoil it for me. I’m leaving.” He picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

 

“Wait, please Killian,” she begs, and he can sense the concern and urgency in her voice, but he doesn’t want to hear about it.

 

“If you had concerns about her, you should’ve come talk to me, not go behind my back and—”

 

“I know, but I didn’t. Instead I do what I do best. I panicked and had to find out more information. I’m sorry Killian, but none of that changes the fact that Miss Swan is a gold digger and Miss Byrd is not an interior decorator. Her real name is Milah Raven, and she's going to try and get you to have an affair. It’s all part of their scheme. They’re only trying to screw you over so they can run off with your money.”

 

“Just stop,” he begs sharply. “I’ve heard enough. How can you just waltz over to me and accuse my wife of such things?”

 

“Because I care about you. And I can prove to you that Miss Swan and Miss Raven have done this many times before.”

 

He scoffs and looks her dead in the eye as he steps close to her with a threatening glare, speaking in a more quiet volume. “You don’t give a bloody damn about me. All you care about is your precious country club. Whatever you think you have on her, I want you to burn, or I will never come back to this place ever again, you got it?” he demands, his eyes clouding with rage.

 

Regina nods, swallowing thickly. “Got it.”

 

With that, he turns and walks away, angry and irritated and wanting to get into his vehicle and drive away as fast as he possibly can.

 

Back at home, he can’t stop thinking about what Regina has told him. He peers down at his wedding ring, moving it around his finger. Is it possible Emma has been playing him this whole time?

 

No, it can’t be true. His amazing Swan would never do that.

 

Or would she?

 

When he'd first met her, she wouldn't even go on a date with him. A month later, she's agreed to marry him? There's falling fast and hard for someone, but this was too fast, wasn't it?

 

No, he refuses to believe his lovely Swan is anything other than who he knows her to be. Regina has all of her facts wrong.

 

Killian guzzles down a bottle of water and goes upstairs, charging his phone which is only at five percent. He and Emma had engaged in some incredible morning lovemaking before she’d left, and he’d forgotten his phone battery was almost dead. Once his phone is connected to the charger, he takes a refreshing shower to rid the sweat from his skin after being out in the heat.

 

As the hot water cascades over him, his wife floods his thoughts, and he looks forward to her coming home in the evening after she's packed some more of her things to bring over. He’d asked if he could help with anything, but she’d refused. Come to think of it, every time he’s asked about going over to her house, she always supplies him with an excuse, saying her apartment is messy or that she prefers being at his place. Now Regina has him thinking she’s living with this Milah person she had mentioned, but Killian refuses to let her words get inside his head.

 

After his shower, he goes downstairs, catching the PGA at the Quicken Loans National on the telly when he hears a knock on the door. Turning off the game, he stands from his comfortable spot on the sofa, wondering who could be at the door. He knows it's not Emma because for one, she’s at work, and two, he's told her several times she doesn't have to knock when she comes over. They're married now, and she’s got a key, so why would she?

 

He answers the door, seeing Trixy on the doorstep holding up a bottle of champagne. She’s also wearing a long sleeved blouse with her skirt, and he can’t believe she’s not too warm in this heat. It’s over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit outside.

 

“Howdy!” she greats brightly.

 

He scratches behind his ear, not recalling ever setting up an appointment with her today. “Oh uh, hi, Trixy. I wasn't expecting you...”

 

Her mouth falls open a bit, and she lowers the bottle appearing to feel bad about dropping by. “Oh, didn't Emma tell you I was stopping by to show you some samples? She wanted you to decide which design to go with.”

 

Killian shakes his head. “No, she must have forgot.”

 

Trixy makes a gesture with her hand, waving off his words. “Well that's not a problem, I can come back another time. Sorry for botherin’ you,” she says, her words full of regret as she starts to turn around.

 

“No, that's okay. Please come in.” He steps aside, allowing her to come into his home.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jones.”

 

“Please, call me Killian.”

 

Trixy smiles at that. “Alright. Thank you, Killian. And congratulations on getting married. Mrs. Jones told me over the phone. I brought you both a wedding gift.” She holds up the bottle of champagne again.

 

“Thank you, lass, and actually it’s Mrs. Swan-Jones, but you can call her Emma.”

 

Trixy flashes a coy grin. “Will do.”

### $*$*$

 

Emma arrives at the apartment, carrying a bag of takeout from TooJay’s.

 

“Milah, I brought food!” She sets the bag on the table and heads for her sister’s bedroom. “I really want to thank you for being understanding.” She reaches Milah’s room, opening the door. “I never planned on falling for—” Emma’s words die in her throat when she steps inside, finding the room empty. “Milah?”

 

She leaves the bedroom and searches the rest of the apartment, including the balcony, but Milah’s nowhere to be seen. Her features fall, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

_Where the hell did she go?_

 

Emma came home just after two, like she'd promised.

 

Maybe Milah went to the gym or to treat herself to a Swedish massage or Sanctuary Jewel facial spa. If so, why the hell didn't Milah invite her to go with?

 

Emma walks over to the table and opens the bag, deciding she's too hungry to wait for Milah’s return. She removes her sandwich and picks up the bag to put Milah’s food in the refrigerator, but when she drags it from the table, a piece of paper slides off the surface, falling to the floor. Lifting a brow, Emma kneels down to pick it up and rises, turning the slip of paper over to see what it is.

 

Her eyes instantly widen, face draining of blood when she reads Milah’s writing.

 

> _Sorry sis. I have to finish the con. This is for your own good, so don't be mad. You’ll thank me later, trust me. You know where to find me._
> 
>  
> 
> _Love, Mi_

 

“Son of a bitch!”

### $*$*$

 

Killian takes the bottle and makes his way to the kitchen, Trixy following behind him. “So I have to ask, how are you not burning up in long sleeves. I don’t care if you used to live in the dessert—it’s bloody hot outside,” he comments casually as they enter the kitchen.

 

“Oh well, I put this on before I knew it was so hot,” she tells him with a laugh. Trixy starts to unbutton her blouse, but Killian reaches out, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. “Whoa, lass, what are you doing?”

 

“Oh, I’m just cooling off a little. I shouldn’t have worn long sleeves,” she says, unfastening the first few buttons of her blouse. “The air conditioning in here feels nice, but the heat outside had me sweatin’ like a pregnant nun in church.” With the fourth button undone, Trixy reveals a little too much of her cleavage, so he averts his eyes from her and puts the champagne away. “Anywho,” Trixy begins, clearing her throat and getting down to business, “I've brought some sketches of different décor styles for you to look at.” Her eyes wander the room, spotting the kitchen table.

 

“Aye, you can lay them out on the table," Killian says, pointing towards it and they make their way over.

 

Offering a grin, Trixy takes out the first design from her black leather work bag, placing it on the surface. She sweeps her dark hair to one side, leaning over the table.

 

Killian is only interested in the work she is doing, but he can’t help but notice her cleavage is being presented to him, and he starts to think about what Regina had said to him. He wonders if maybe she was right and if this is all a part of Emma’s and Milah’s ploy.

 

Is this woman’s name actually Milah?

 

No, he refuses to believe that. He refuses to believe his beautiful Swan would lie to him.

 

“This one is a contemporary style.” The sketch is for the main room as she describes the features. “It gives the room more of a family feel, but it’s still simple and opens up the space without having too much of it.” The room is full of neutral colors, ranging from beige to brown, a wooden floor and a large area rug and sofa pillows with curvy lines and shapes.

### $*$*$

 

“Dammit!”

 

Emma hangs up the phone after her third attempt at calling Killian. She throws her phone in the passenger seat with a huff, wondering why he’s not answering.

 

Keeping her eyes on the road, she’s seeing red as she drives faster than she has ever driven in her entire life. She's so stricken with fear and anger her knuckles are turning white as she grips the steering wheel. She shouldn't be worried. She knows Killian won't cheat on her; she has faith. She's more angry at Milah than she’s afraid of Killian having an affair.

 

Emma waits at another goddamn red light, her patience wearing extremely thin. She’s still clutching to the steering wheel like it's a lifesource, hoping she can make it before Milah tries anything.

 

_How can her own fucking sister do this to her?!”_

 

Looking at the clock, she tries to steady her breathing, knowing she should be at Killian’s in ten minutes.

 

The light turns green and Emma presses on the gas pedal, peeling out so fast she's sure to be there much sooner.

 

### $*$*$

 

Trixy takes out the second design, placing it next to the other one. “This next one I think will fit the home you’ve invested here by the ocean, but it doesn't have as much of a family feel. It’s more of a coastal style or what we also refer to as the Hampton's style.” The sample is also for the living room and includes blacks and whites paired with blues and greens. The furnishings include a sleek, black and white sectional sofa, a simple, black coffee table and fireplace with a dark green rug, and blue and white striped patterns for pillows. “The room contains elements of wood, and the accessories are inspired by the sea to create a relaxed, comfortable environment for your family. So what are your thoughts?” Her words pull his eyes up from the samples and he looks up to see her smiling at him with a twinkle in her eye.

  
“Hmm.” Killian nods, scanning the designs, and running a hand along his stubbled jaw. “They’re both brilliant, and I think each of the designs are stunning in their own way. I do like the idea of the family design, although I’m leaning more towards the coastal design for obvious reasons,” he chuckles. “But I want to go with what fits more with my wife’s style.”

 

Trixy nods in understanding, pursing her lips in thought. “You really love her don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have married her.”

 

“Of course.” She stares into his eyes, speaking softly. “It’s really a shame though.”

 

“Why do you say that?” He swallows thickly, praying to the gods above that Regina was not right.

 

“Because another great guy is off the market. Emma’s a very lucky gal to have snagged a man like you, Mr. Jones,” she says sincerely, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

 

He looks down at the gesture and lifts a brow, unsure of how to respond to that.

 

Trixy’s eyes widen when she realizes what she’s done, and she quickly removes her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jones, I didn’t mean to—”

 

“It’s alright, lass,” he assures, seeing the red in her cheeks; he knows the gesture was unintentional and that she’s embarrassed about it. “And I told you, it’s Killian.”

 

“I'm sorry,” she repeats sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and biting her bottom lip, looking away. “Anyway, I agree with your choice, and yes, you also have to be considerate of what Emma will like, too. This shall be a couple’s decision, so I’ll tell you what, even though Emma trusts your judgment, I think I should come back when both of ya’ll are here to decide together.”

 

She leans over the table and picks up her samples a little too quickly. When she spins around, the sketches fall from her hands, one sliding away from her. “Oh mah, I’m such a clodhopper!” She bends over, trying to kneel down to pick up the one within her reach, but her skirt is too tight and she ends up falling to her hands and knees to gather up the sample. If he were any less of a gentleman he probably would’ve looked as the fabric rode up her arse, but he is only interested in his wife.

 

“It’s not a problem, Trixy.” He bends down to help her pick up the other sketch as she apologizes profusely.

 

“Oh lordy,” she grumbles as he rises and returns to her, extending his hand. She takes it, using him as an anchor to stand up. “Thank you so much, Killian.”

 

“It's not a problem,” he assures, noticing she’s still clutching onto his hand.

 

“You’re a lifesaver.” Her eyes meet his and he can hear the hitch in her breath. This whole time he’s tried to convince himself that her touches were accidental. Now he’s starting to see that everything she has done since she's arrived, and even during their first meeting when she'd tried to rub his crotch, has been intentional. “Well, I should get goin’ now.”

 

Killian peels his eyes away and peers down at their joined hands. She takes the hint and starts to release her grip, but when she does, he can’t help but notice the sleeve of her blouse slipping past her wrist, part of a tattoo peeking out. He tugs the cuff away from her wrist to get a better look.

 

It's just as he suspects—a raven tattoo.

 

“Killian!” he hears Emma call from the front door, but before he can process what is actually happening, Trixy is launching herself at him and smashing her lips into his.

 

He quickly pushes Trix—Milah (or whoever the bloody hell she really is) away from him, anger burning inside of him as he rips himself from the thralls of her arms.

 

“How could you do this to me?!”

 

He turns his head to catch Emma witnessing the entire scene, complete devastation in her features.

 

“Oh Mrs. Jones, I'm so sorry,” Milah says in her fake Texan drawl.

 

Killian tightens his jaw, eyes fleeting between these two vixens who have set him up. He is heated. “Oh please, spare me the act. I know this is all part your scheme,” he snaps at both of them.

 

“I wasn't talking to you,” Emma says to him and steps up to the other woman. “I told you the con was over, but you didn't listen to me!” she hollers at the brunette, a ferocious storm brewing in her emerald depths. “I trusted you!”

 

Killian is completely baffled as he glances between them. Why is Emma angry at Milah if this was all a set up?

 

“And I trusted you to make this work, but you failed!” Milah shouts back at her, just as furious and no longer using the fake accent.

 

“I told you I can't help how I feel, but you put the con before your own sister! You're nothing but a selfish—”

 

“Excuse me,” he cuts her off briskly. “I don't mean to interrupt this sisterly squabble, but what the devil is going on?!” he demands, breaking up their feud.

 

Emma looks at him, regret and tears swarming her eyes. “I'm sorry, Killian. I wanted to stop it, but she went behind my back.” Emma points at her sister accusingly, and she's about to say something else, but her eyes blow wide in realization, and she glances back at Killian. “Wait, how did you know?”

 

“Regina told me,” he snarls and sets his death glare on the brunette.

 

Emma closes her eyes, breathing out, “Regina,” through clenched teeth.

 

“And I didn't want to believe her, but she said your name was Milah Raven, then I saw that the tattoo on your wrist is a raven, and it's on the same spot where Emma has a tattoo of a swan. Plus, you tried to kiss me when Emma bursted inside, so it wasn’t difficult to put the bloody pieces together,” he mutters spitefully.

 

“Killian, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to go through with it, but Milah wouldn't listen.” Emma tries to approach him and touch his shoulder, but he backs away. “Killian, you have to believe me.”

 

That's when he explodes with the rage he feels inside. “You lied to me and tricked me into marrying you! Why the fuck would I believe you?!’

 

“Because my feelings for you are real!” she tries to reassure him in a pleading voice, her words cracking as tears slide down her cheeks.

 

He looks at her with a steely glare. “I don’t even know who you are.”

 

“Yes, you do, Killian! My name is Emma Swan, I used to be an orphan like you and I work at Marco’s Italian Tuxedos. I've been more real with you than any other man I've ever met!”

 

“No, to me you're nothing but a gold-diggin’ charlatan.”

 

She swallows audibly, her lips trembling and another tear escaping her eyes. “Not anymore,” she vows, but Killian can’t listen to another word.

 

His heart is shattered into a million pieces, anger and rage replacing the love he’d held for her. She is not the beautiful Swan he thought he knew. “I want you both out of my home,” he speaks quietly, but his words are just as deadly.

 

Milah doesn't hesitate, and grabs her bag, storming out quietly, but Emma stays, trying to convince him she actually loves him.

 

“Killian, please, I'm so sorry.” More tears are streaming down her face, and he can't help but still see her as his wife who's in pain, but he has to stay strong.

 

“I said leave,” he tells her again, pointing towards the door, as much as it hurts. “I don't ever want to see you again.”

 

“But we’re married,” she chokes out, the fear of losing him evident in her voice, but he couldn't care less. She’s hurt him badly and he can’t find it within him to have sympathy for her.

 

Killian’s eyes darken as he stares into hers, wondering how she could do this to him? How could someone be so cruel? “Our wedding was a sham,” Killian states, his words heavy with the hurt and pain he feels. He storms past her, rushing to the front door and yanking it open, his voice growing louder and harsher as she follows behind him. “Now get the fuck out!”

 

His booming voice makes her jump, but she complies, her head down as she makes her way towards the entrance, sniffling and wiping her tears. She digs into her purse and grabs her keys, taking off the one for the cabin and holds it up for him. He snatches it from her grasp as she looks up at him one last time before she goes. “I'm truly sorry, Killian,” she whispers softly.

 

“You can get your belongings later when I'm not here,” he says flatly. “I'll have someone here to let you in. But don't be surprised if your things are floating in the ocean when you come back.”

 

Emma simply nods and proceeds sluggishly out onto the porch. She walks down the steps and heads towards her car, looking back at him once more, eyes red and puffy and cheeks stained with tears. She enters her car as he steps inside, flinging the door shut, his heart aching and his breathing crippled, emotions washing over him like a tidal wave.

 

He can't believe in one day his world has completely crumbled apart between his fingertips. He can't believe the love of his life was never really his love at all. The entire thing was a bloody joke. He feels like such a bloody fool; he should've just listened to Regina. He should've never rolled the dice on Emma.

 

He should've never followed his heart in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you can all throw things at me now :(


	11. Game Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad there is only the epilogue left :( Like how is it already almost over with??? Thank you for all of your comments and for following along with the story, I really appreciate it!!! You guys rock!!!

**_~_ ** **_Rule #11: Know the rules well so you can break them effectively. Be bold enough to live life on your terms, and never, ever apologize for it. The greatest crimes in the world are not committed by people breaking the rules, but by people following them. Any fool can make a rule. Any fool will mind it. Play by your own rules, no one else’s.~_ **

 

Emma takes a deep, shaky breath, her stomach twisted in knots as she walks up the porch steps and knocks on the door.

 

When it opens not a moment later, the sight of this person gives her the urge to smile, but she doesn’t.

 

“Emma? What are you doing here? How did you find out where we live?” the brunette asks in shock, but not in a rude way. Emma’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.

 

“A little birdy told me so,” she responds playfully, the little birdy being Henry. Since Regina's threats, she hasn’t dared to step foot into the country club, but Henry had stopped into Marco’s to see how she was doing, and luckily he is about the only person who doesn’t hate her right now.

 

“Who’s at the door—” David’s words stop sharply, eyes growing wild when he steps into the doorway, seeing Emma on the porch. “What the hell are you doing here?” He asks the same question his wife did, but his words and tone hold much more of a bite to them.

 

“David!” his wife chides, swatting his stomach.

 

He looks at her, baffled. “This woman broke Killian’s heart. She lied to him. She lied to us all, and she just shows up at our home expecting what? Forgiveness?” he asks reverting his eyes to Emma. “Well you can forget it, because it’s not gonna happen.”

 

“That’s not why I’m here,” she assures him, her voice weak and timid. “I don’t expect anyone to forgive me for what happened, I don’t deserve it. All I’m asking for is your help.”

 

David glares at her, confused as to why she would ask them such a thing. “Why on earth would we help you?”

 

Emma swallows, her eyes pricking with tears. “You have no reason to, but… I need to see Killian.” Before the couple grows angrier, she stops them from speaking. “Not to win him back, but to give him back something I don’t deserve.” She looks at the couple with pleading eyes, her voice completely wrecked. “Please, he hasn’t returned any of my calls and he’s not been home when I’ve stopped by. Or at least he doesn’t answer the door.”

 

She can see their resolve weakening.

 

“He needs to know that I really did want to stop the con. He has to know that I really was, and I still am, very much _in love_ with him,” she professes with all the honesty she has inside her. “I love him so much that the thought of what I did to him hurts just as much as losing him. But I’m not asking for forgiveness. All I’m asking is for him to hear me out.”

 

David sighs deeply, crossing his arms. “And if the tables were turned, would you want to hear him out?”

 

A tear slides down her cheek, and the reality of his words cuts her deeply. Emma shakes her head. “You’re right, I’ll just go. Thanks for listening, and sorry to have bothered you. Goodbye.” She turns and walks down the steps, more tears escaping her eyes. Her heart is aching in her chest, as it has been for two weeks—ever since Killian had kicked her out of his home.

 

“Wait.” Mary Margaret’s voice stops her, and Emma turns around, a hopeful look on her face. “We want to help.”

 

“Correction, _she_ wants to help,” David clarifies.

 

His wife elbows him in the stomach.

 

“Would you stop that?” he asks her, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him.

 

“We believe you’re sorry for what you’ve done, and luckily we believe in forgiveness,” Mary Margaret states and scolds her husband. “Right, David?”

 

He nods, still not happy with this, but he knows his wife is right. They are both forgiving people, as much as he doesn’t wish to admit it at the moment. “That’s right,” he agrees warily.

 

To that, Mary Margaret nods towards the door, speaking to Emma again. “Now, come inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate, and you can tell us how we can help.”

 

A hopeful smile blooms over Emma’s lips, relief flooding her body as she sniffles, wiping her tears. “Thank you.” She ascends the steps again and accepts their invitation, grateful they are willing to hear her out. If only Killian will, too.

### $*$*$

 

“Are you ever going to tell me what we’re doing here?” Killian questions his friend. “The Open Championship is next week and the last thing I need is to be drinking away my sorrows.”

 

“That’s not why we’re here,” David assures him as they make their way to the bar counter. “They don’t only serve alcohol here,” he corrects as they each take a seat on a bar stool. “They have good food, too.”

 

Killian is doubtful, wondering why they didn’t go to an actual restaurant as he looks around the poorly lit establishment. He’s never been to this bar before, but there’s probably a reason. He turns his head as he hears the bartender approaching to hand them menus. “Welcome to Camelot. What can I get you boys?”

A shiver skates down his spine at the sound of her voice.

 

His eyes dart in the direction of the person speaking, and sure enough it’s _her._ It’s Emma—the woman who had made him fall in love with her before ripping his bleedin’ heart into a million pieces. “Bloody hell,” he grumbles angrily and looks to David. “Is this why you brought me here?” He doesn’t let him respond, and starts to remove himself from the stool.

 

“Killian, wait, I asked him to—”

 

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he mutters, cutting her off. He hastily strides across the bar, yanking the door open and storming into the muggy evening air.

 

“Killian, please!” Emma shouts, following behind as he continues angrily down the sidewalk. “Just let me explain!”

 

He stops and turns around, glaring at her. “And why should I?”

 

“Because Killian, we are married,” she reminds him.

 

He scoffs, looking away from her. “You say that like it means something.”

 

“It does to me. Believe it or not, I married you because I wanted to be with you, not because of the con.”

 

“Just stop. I’m done listening to your lies,” he spits out.

 

“It’s not a lie.” She walks over to him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I told you, I’ve been more honest with you than any other man I’ve ever known.”

 

“Which isn’t saying much.”

 

Emma nods, her entire being swarming with shame and regret. “I deserve that. I deserve everything you throw at me, and so much worse. I was a terrible person,” she confesses, her words cracked with emotion, a frail smile making its way across her lips. “That is until I met you. You made me want to be better.” Tears are streaming down her face as she steps closer to him. “And since I hurt you, I’ve been trying to atone for all of the things I’ve done. I have two jobs and I’m volunteering at a children's shelter. I want to do something with my life, and I want to do it the honest way.”

 

Killian listens to her, but even the truth laced with each word doesn’t make up for what she’d done to him; her words don’t magically heal his bleedin’ heart. He swallows thickly as she awaits an answer.

 

“Look, the reason I asked David to bring you here is because—”

 

“I’m going to have to stop you right there,” he murmurs, his words full of the pain anchored inside him. “I can’t listen anymore. I’m done with being a part of one of your conniving schemes.” With that said, he stares at her with eyes hooded and stormy, hoping she knows exactly how much she’d hurt him, before he turns and walks away.

 

He can’t believe his friends would do this to him, but at the same time he can, because of the kind of people they are. They’re forgiving, full of hope, and he only wishes he had that kind of strength, but Emma hurt him badly. He hates how much she was able to hurt him. He hates how much of his heart he’d given to her. At the same time, he hates that he walked away from her outside the bar, but trying to deal with all of the emotions he feels—anger, sadness, pain—he just can’t be in her presence any longer, as much as he wants to be. He wants everything to be okay between them, he wants to wrap his arms around her and forgive her, forgetting about what she’s done to him.

 

If only it were that simple.

 

He doesn’t get that far from the bar when David shouts him down, and chases after Killian, catching up to him.

 

“Killian, please don’t be mad,” the man begs, not far behind Killian as he gasps for air. “Mary Margaret and I only did it because we could see that Emma hates herself for hurting you.” Killian stops and turns around to look at him, seeing Emma had disappeared into the bar. “We wanted her to be able to redeem herself.”

 

Killian loves him and his wife dearly and trusts their judgement, but he doesn’t know if he has it in him to see Emma again. “Look, I know you both meant well, but I just can’t,” is all he says before walking away.

 

David lets him go, Killian calls a cab and he goes home to get some shut-eye, but his mind is too frazzled for that. He is too conflicted with whether the idea of hearing Emma out is such a bad one or not.

### $*$*$

 

_I’m done with being a part of one of your conniving schemes._

 

Killian’s statement runs through her mind on an endless loop; his words had gutted her deeply, but she deserves it. She's not a good person, and she knows it. Earlier that night, she’d been tempted to steal from one of her male customers when she’d seen his wallet full of large bills. Emma could have easily flirted and overcharged him or swindled him into giving her some cash. She'd even pondered stealing from the till and taking off, leaving Palm Beach all together.

 

Even though she didn't go through with those enticing ideas, she still _thought_ about pulling her old tricks. So she doesn't even know why she'd expected Killian to listen to or trust her again, but there was still a small shred of hope she had been clinging to that she wasn't ready to let go of just yet.

 

Emma leaves the bar that night, her keys jangling as she locks the door.

 

“I should've known I'd find you here.”

 

Emma jumps, her free hand flying to her chest, startled by the familiar voice from behind her. “Jesus Christ, you just about scared me half to death!” she cries, pulling the key from the lock and turning around to face her sister. She hasn't even seen or heard from Milah in two weeks. After their fight, the brunette had fled Palm Beach without even a phone call or a text. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” Milah says, facial features creasing with apology. “I waited for you at the apartment, and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up it was almost closing time and I got worried, so I came here to see if you had gotten drunk off your ass and needed a ride home.”

 

“Well, thanks for your concern,” Emma replies sarcastically, “but actually I work here now. And I'm not interested in talking to you,” she states briskly and walks past Milah.

 

“I messed up, sis. I never should have chosen the con over you.” Milah's words cause Emma to stop in her tracks. “You're the only family I’ve got, and I fucked up. Just like I've fucked up everything else in my life.”

 

Emma turns around, seeing Milah pull out both a cigarette and lighter from her purse—a habit she had broken a long time ago. Lighting it, she raises the cigarette to her lips when Emma promptly rips it from her hand, throws it to the ground and crushes it with the heel of her shoe.

 

“What the hell?!” Milah shouts, irritation plaguing her voice.

 

“Since when did you start smoking again?”

 

“Since I ruined your life,” she answers and takes out another cigarette, but this time Emma doesn't stop her from lighting it up. “Some habits are hard to break,” she says, blowing a puff of smoke away from her sister’s face. “There's no excuse for what I did, I just got caught up in the game, and I'm sorry, Em.” She holds the cigarette at her side, offering her sister an adamant apology. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

 

Emma scoffs. “But I asked you not to go through with the con, and you lied to me. You said you wouldn't do it, but you did.”

 

“I know, I was jealous it only took you a month to get the mark,” Milah confesses with a heavy sigh, “and I hate myself for it. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't,” she claims with pleading, hazel eyes, stepping closer to her sister. “All I can do is hope and pray and beg for your forgiveness,”

 

“Pfffft… get real, Milah… we both know you don't pray,” Emma teases with a scowl.

 

Her sister nods in agreement, a small smile taunting her lips. “Fair point.”

 

“Even if I did forgive you, it doesn't change anything. Killian still hates me.”

 

“So, that's it? You're just giving up?”

 

Emma shrugs. “That's all I _can_ do. I can't force someone to forgive me. Trust is not something I can just take.”

 

“So you earn it,” Milah says bluntly. “Look, we both know you've always thought of me as the older sister, even though we’re same age, and I've always tried to look out for you, but this time, I failed. And I know I can't change things overnight, but I’m leaving Palm Beach for good, so I wanted to come apologize face to face before I'm gone.”

 

Emma narrows her eyes, raising a brow in surprise. “You're leaving?”

 

Milah nods. “After our fight, I went back to Maine. You were right, Emma. The reason why I was afraid to take on another mark was because I fell for the last one I married. I just couldn't admit it. I couldn't accept defeat, especially to you of all people.” Milah’s features suddenly light up with a smile, excitement dancing in her eyes. “But once I admitted it to myself, I felt so much freer, Em. I drove all the way to Storybrooke and threw myself into Robbie’s arms. Since then, I've been so much happier, and I want the same for you. I want you to admit defeat. I want you to be happy.”

 

Emma’s a bit confused by this. “I take it you didn't tell Gold you tricked him?”

 

Milah peeks down at the ground, features plagued with shame. “Not exactly. I didn't tell him about the con, but I told him my real name and that I was after his money before I realized how much I truly loved him. He made a deal with me, saying he’d forgive me for being a gold digger if I forgave him for cheating.”

 

“You’re both perfect for each other,” Emma teases with a laugh. “So, you’re going back to Maine?”

 

Milah shakes her head, a big smile blooming over lips. “No, he's taking me to Hawaii. I'm doing it, sis. I'm going to Hawaii like we dreamed about. I’d ask you to come with me, but I know you still have some unfinished business here.”

 

Emma nods, although she doesn’t know if her business here will ever be finished.

 

“Besides, Robbie doesn't know you’re my sister. He doesn’t even know I have one.”

 

“Yeah, it's probably a good idea then.”

 

“I plan on telling him though, eventually. I do hope you'll visit in the future.”

 

“You should definitely tell him,” Emma sternly suggests. “When are you leaving?”

 

“We’re flying out in a few hours. We’re staying in a hotel right now, but he doesn't know I'm gone.”

 

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Emma agrees in a waggish tone, remembering his sleeping habits, or at least what Milah’s told her. “Is his bedtime still eight o’clock?”

 

“Yes, and he still wakes up at four a.m. which is—”

 

“Not even a time if you ask me,” they both finish in unison.

 

Sharing a laugh with her sister, Emma can no longer feel the strained tension between them. “I'm happy for you, Milah.” She steps up to her, drawing the brunette into a hug. Milah wraps her arms around Emma, and they stay like that for a while. “Even though you didn't listen to me when I wanted to end the con, you're still my sister.”

 

“I’m sorry, Em. For everything.” Milah sighs against her sister, tightening the hug. “I should've never talked you into the con in the first place.”

 

“I should've never agreed to it, but we can't change the past. We can only move on from our mistakes and become better people because of them.”

 

Millah nods, pulling away from her, and they both walk to Emma’s car. “Good luck with Killian. I know things will work out. I haven't interacted with him very much, but he seems like a nice catch.” Milah opens Emma's door, her smirk laced with mischief as Emma gets in the driver’s seat.

 

Inserting the key into the ignition, Emma starts the convertible, rolling down the window.

 

“You know, if you weren't my sister, I'd be stealing him away for myself,” Milah teases with a wink.

 

Emma rolls her eyes, pressing her foot on the brake and putting the car into drive. “Ha ha, very funny.”

 

Milah feigns confusion. “Oh, you think I’m joking...”

 

Emma chooses to ignore the quips tossed at her and waves at the brunette. “Goodbye, have a safe flight.”

 

“Thanks, sis.”

 

Emma makes sure Milah gets in her own car safely before driving away.

 

When she returns home, she tries to sleep, but the darkness turns into dawn, and there's too much weighing on her mind. Even though she and Milah had made up, there’s still a hole in her heart.

 

Emma gets out of bed after her failed attempt to sleep, and as tired as she is, she grabs her keys, knowing her sister is right—Emma needs to accept defeat.

### $*$*$

 

Killian’s yacht glides across the dark ocean waters as he tries to rid his thoughts of the blonde he’s been trying to get out of his head for the last two weeks, but his attempts are failing him miserably. The more he tries to forget, the more he misses her—the more he misses her touch, her enchanting green eyes, her sweet smile, her angelic voice. But more than that, he misses the way she’d made him feel—the way his heart would come to life whenever she was around him. He’s never been in love with anyone before, and in such a short time he fell for her hard and fast.

 

If only he could get over her that quickly.

 

Killian steers the boat towards the shoreline when he’s ready to head home. The shoreline is deserted, except for one person he can see from the distance. He doesn’t think much about it, except for how it reminds him of the day he saw Emma for the first time, on the exact same beach. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, especially now, but he had definitely been taken by her from that first moment. Not that it matters anymore.

 

The closer Killian gets to the beach, the more he recognizes the person standing there, gazing across the water. He gulps harshly, panic rushing through his blood. Gods, why does she have to be so incredibly beautiful? Why does he have to love her so bloody much? He considers turning the yacht around and heading in another direction.

 

He can anchor his boat somewhere else and catch a cab to get to his car. A part of him wants to turn away, but another part wants to give her a chance to explain herself. After he’d walked away from David the night before, Killian had gone home and watched the wedding video. Now that he possesses the knowledge he didn’t have on that day, he could see the struggle in Emma’s eyes, he could see she was hesitant, but at the same time, he could see that her love for him was genuine. But if she loved him so much, why didn’t she tell him the truth? Why did she go through with wedding?

 

Maybe it's the feelings he still holds for her, or maybe it's pure curiosity as to why she'd chosen the path she did, but he finds himself steering the yacht towards the marina as she waits for him.

 

His heart is racing and his breathing is shallow as he moors the vessel to the port. He starts to question his decision, but as Emma reaches him from the beach, he knows it's too late to back out now.

 

“You don't give up, do you?” he asks bitterly.

 

Sadness and shame falls over her features, her eyes full of regret. “I am now. That's why I'm here.” Her words tremble as they leave her mouth. “That and because I have something that belongs to you—something I don't deserve.” She lifts her hands, and pulls off her wedding and engagement rings.

 

Killian eyes her with a lifted brow, utterly perplexed. He’d expected her to explain herself and beg for forgiveness, not to retreat and give up the only thing that's still binding them together.

 

“I don't expect you to forgive me, Killian. Frankly, I will never be able to forgive myself for what I’ve done to you. But I can't stand here and tell you I regret any of it, because that would be a flat out lie,” she confesses.

 

Killian is even more befuddled. “Emma, if you're here to tell me you're not actually sorry, then I don’t want to hear—”

 

“No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying…” she takes a deep breath, swallowing thickly to muster up the courage to continue. “Before I give you these rings back, I have to tell you that I don't regret choosing you as a mark. I hate why I did it, I hate that I was that kind of person. It all started three years ago when Milah and I were almost evicted from our apartment. We were desperate for money, so she came up with this crazy scheme that would pay our rent and our bills. And that’s no excuse for what we’ve done… what I’ve done to you,” Emma draws in another quivering breath, “but if I hadn't let Milah talk me into conning in the first place, if we hadn’t come here to Palm Beach and if I hadn’t chosen you, then I never would've met you. I never would’ve had the privilege of getting to know you. That is what I don't regret.”

 

Emma looks down at the rings before lifting them higher, presenting the rings to him. “So, I'm not asking for forgiveness, I'm not asking for you to stop hating me for what I've done, and I'm not asking for your money from the divorce, or anything else. All I'm asking for is…” she pauses, eyes starting to glisten with tears, “I'm asking you to find someone who won't hurt you—someone who will make you happy,” a tear slips down her cheek as she manages the words, “someone who deserves you.”

 

Killian surprises himself when disappointment flares in his gut. Is she really giving up on him so easily? His heart aches knowing that she's not willing to fight for him, and in all honesty, he doesn't want anyone else. He wants her. “Love, I don't remember asking for a divorce.”

 

Emma lifts her gaze, eyes widening in bewilderment. “But, I thought—”

 

“I know, Emma… I said some pretty awful things to you, and I’m sorry I did. I was hurt. You had my heart in your hand, I gave that power to you and you abused it. I was upset, but I never stopped loving you for it, as much as I wanted to.”

 

Emma nods in understanding. “You’re absolutely right—I abused your trust, so how could I possibly deserve your forgiveness?”

 

Killian sighs, peering down at the ground between them. “You know, love, for someone who plays people for sport, I find it hard to believe you're throwing in the driver so easily.” He lifts his gaze to see Emma's eyes widen in surprise.

 

“I just know when to accept defeat is all. You're the first mark to ever win the game, so I have to accept that. And I'm not throwing in the driver, I'm forfeiting my hand. I'm not giving up the round, but I have nothing left to lose. So I'm setting you free.”

 

Killian runs a hand over his chin, his demeanor softening as he looks at the clearly regretful woman in front of him who’s about to hand over the wedding rings and walk away. “What if you were dealt a new hand?”

 

Emma tries to give him back the rings, but he refuses to accept them. “I've already ruined the deck.”

 

“Then perhaps a hand from a different deck?”

 

She shakes her head, irritation wrinkling her features. “I don't want a different deck. I’m done with playing games.”

 

Arching a brow, he steps closer, and this time his tone holds a bit of humor. “I don’t buy it.”

 

The area between her brows fold, expressing the confusion she feels. “Killian, I don’t want to hurt people anymore. I’m done with that.”

 

“Then change the game, love.”

 

Emma gapes at him, not sure how to respond for a moment. “And what game would you suggest I change it to?”

 

Killian shrugs casually, looking off over the ocean to ponder her question. “Perhaps a game of golf with me is in your future. It’s much more relaxing.” He reverts his eyes to hers, offering a soft smirk.

 

“Are you—are you asking me out on a date?” she stutters, completely baffled.

 

“That’s not exactly what I meant, Swan. I said _perhaps_ golf is in your future. Whether or not you’re willing to prove you’re worthy enough to play is the question.”

 

A small smile finally inches its way into the corner of her lips, her eyes lighting up with hope. “Is that a challenge? Because I’m actually pretty good at golf. I only faked being bad at it to get close to you.”

 

Killian is torn between wanting to be angry with her and wanting to forgive her, but he knows which way he’s leaning towards. “Did you really think I was going to let you off the hook so easily?”

 

A small laugh bursts from Emma’s mouth, and it’s not until then when he realizes the awful, unintended pun he’s just made. “No, of course not.” Emma takes a step, completely closing the distance between them and curling her hands around the collar of his shirt, still clutching onto the rings. “I never wanna be off the hook again.”

 

His features grow more serious as he stares deeply into her eyes, caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. It feels so good to be this close to her again, to breathe in her scent, to touch her skin, and now all that’s left is to kiss her. “Just tell me one thing, Emma…”

 

“Anything,” she breathes, her nose brushing over his.

 

“On our wedding night... did you really mean what you said before we made love… did you really love me?”

 

Emma doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes, I did. I still do,” she whispers.

 

Killian is swarmed with relief. If she didn't really love him, he'd be devastated. Then again, if she didn't really love him, she wouldn't be standing there in front of him.

 

“I love you, Killian Jones, and I don’t want a divorce,” Emma's face brightens with a smile, “I want to go with you on the tour and go to France with you where you’ll help your team win the Ryder Cup, because we both know you'll qualify after the PGA Championship.”

 

Killian chuckles, his eyes lighting up with the warmth he feels in his heart as he remembers why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place—not because of her dedicated interest in the game, but because of her passion, her unyielding faith in him and how much she truly _gets_ him and supports him.

 

“When we’re both ready, I want us to renew our vows, I want to spend my entire life making up for my mistakes and I want us to spend from now until the end of time getting to know each other,” she finishes with a strangled laugh.

 

Killian’s heart soars to life again at her words, a wide grin taking over his face. “In that case, Mrs. Emma Swan-Jones.” He looks down and takes her left hand in his, pulling the rings from her grasp and slipping them onto her finger where they belong. Rings secured back in place, he releases her hand and lifts his head, leaning in until his lips are almost touching hers. His thumbs gently brush her cheeks as he cradles her face in his hands, whispering softly, “Let forever begin right now,” before he captures his wife’s lips, sealing his promise with a long, passionate kiss.

 

##  **August 12th, 2018**

 

“Hook Jones has just scored another tour win here at the PGA Championship. Tell us, how do you feel right now?” the Australian journalist asks excitedly, pointing the mic at Hook.

 

“I feel incredible. I mean, I couldn't ask for anything more—Emma, my friends, the supporting fans. I'm the luckiest man alive,” he remarks with a boyish grin.

 

Tina smiles and nods. “Now, Hook, since you mention her, there have been some rumors floating around about you and Emma. We've seen her on the tour with you over the last few months, and we've seen you holding hands and blowing kisses at one another, so I have to ask, since you're an automatic qualifier for the Ryder Cup in France, are you taking your lady friend with you?”

 

Killian blushes and looks at his wife, who's smiling and watching him from a distance. He grins back at Emma, and the camera pans over to her before returning to the interview. “Aye lass, Emma will be joining me. And just to clarify, she’s more than my lady friend.” He glances at his wife again, waving her over.

 

After a moment of hesitance, she bashfully walks over to stand next to him. Killian wraps his arm around her shoulder as she curls hers around his back. “Tina, this here is my wife,” he announces proudly in front of the camera.

 

The reporter’s face lights up, a bubbly grin curving her lips as she takes Emma's hand, studying the rings on her finger.

 

“Wow, that is some rock! Congratulations to the both of you!”

 

“Thank you,” they both say, exchanging blushing glances with one another.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard it from the man himself—there _is_ a Mrs. Hook Jones!”

 

The chatter on the television fills Milah’s ears as she bursts into the living room. “Lunch is re—” Her words hang in the air, mouth falling open when she sees Killian on the screen as he kisses Emma, his arm wrapped around her, “—eady.”

 

Milah is soon beaming with excitement, practically dancing around the couch and plopping down on the cushion. “You got him back, sis!” she cheers, oblivious to the pairs of eyes staring at her. She's thrilled to see that Emma and Killian are back together.

 

“Sis?” Gold parrots, pulling her down from the cloud of happiness she's in. Milah turns her head reluctantly, seeing her boyfriend staring at her with a raised brow.

 

“I wasn't aware you had a sister.”

 

Her face turns beat red when she realizes her mistake. She still hasn't told her boyfriend about Emma or who she really is.

 

“Hey papa, doesn't that woman look familiar to you?” Neal asks his father from the chair he's sitting in as he glances at the television.

 

_Damn him. Why did he have to come along with them to Hawaii again?_

 

Gold squints his eyes at the screen, trying to discern who Emma is. “She does, but I can't place my finger on where I've seen her before.”

 

“No, I would know if you've met her.” Milah laughs it off and jumps up from the sofa. “Now come on, let's eat.”

 

“Wait, didn't she used to have red hair?” Neal asks, even when Emma isn't being shown anymore. “That smile looked awfully familiar.”

 

“You guys are nuts, you're probably thinking of someone else,” Milah tries to convince them.

 

“No, no, I'd recognize that smile anywhere,” Neal comments with a creepy smirk.

 

Gold wags a finger at the television screen. “Wait a minute, isn't her name Ima Conda?”

 

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Neal agrees and scratches his head in confusion.

 

Letting the name roll off his tongue again, this time more slowly, “Im—a—con—duh,” Gold pauses as the words sink in for a moment before it dawns on him. “Shiiit!” He turns and frowns at his girlfriend. “She’s your sister?!”

 

_Fuck._

 

“I kissed your sister?!”

 

Milah gulps, feeling like she's in between a rock and a hard place. She had planned on telling him, but in her own way and when she was ready.

 

So much for that idea.

 

Milah offers a fake, cheeky grin, trying to figure out how the hell she's going to get out of this one. But he's already figured it out, so... “Robert, my darling,” she says sweetly and reclaims her seat. She leans in, presses her hands to his chest and bats her lashes. “There's something I've been meaning to tell you.”

 

Holding a steely gaze, Gold offers a small, taunting smile. “I'm all ears, dearie.”

 

“Did I fail to mention, Emma and I used to be con artists?”

 

Robert doesn't reply, only glares at her, waiting for her to explain.

 

“No?” she asks, imitating a look of innocence. “Oops, my bad...”

### $*$*$

 

The next afternoon, Killian and Emma are having coffee, laying on opposite sides of the sofa as they face each other, legs woven together between them. Killian’s going through his emails and looking at the schedule for the rest of the week while Emma is texting Milah. Their next destination is North Carolina for the weekend, but for the moment, he’s content with staying in the hotel room all day to get some rest and gather his strength. “How is your sister doing, love?” he asks, laying his phone on the coffee table.

 

Emma has an amused grin on her face as she lifts her emerald green eyes to look at him. “Well, last night she told her boyfriend about how their marriage was part of a con, so you can probably imagine how things went…”

 

“Ah, I know the feeling,” he replies, but there's no bitterness in his tone, “but since you’re smiling, I take it things didn’t go horribly wrong?”

 

“She said he didn’t take it well at first. He left angry, but then he came back and they had a long talk. Now she’s making jokes about the whole thing, so no, it’s not so bad.”

 

“Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose.”

 

Emma shrugs. “I’m just glad she told him. Now we can go and visit them sometime… if you want to.”

 

Killian bobs his head against the pillow on the arm of the couch. “I think that can be arranged.”

 

She sets her phone aside, gets up and reaches over him, taking his drink from his hand and carefully placing both of their mugs on the coffee table. Killian eyes his wife in confusion as she walks over to his side of the sofa, but as she climbs atop him, straddling his hips and resting the palm of her hands on his chest, his expression instantly relaxes. Taking her small waist in his hands, he looks up into her gorgeous depths as she smiles down at him, eyes buzzing with warmth and shining with love.

 

For an instant, Killian thinks about how he and Emma were initially going to live together and how Milah had posed as their interior decorator. It will take some more time to completely get over the whole situation, but he’s chosen to move past all of that and start fresh with Emma. Even if they are married, the relationship is still rather new to them and they’re constantly learning new things about one another, but it only makes the marriage sweeter and more exciting.

 

“Okay, what’s on your mind?” she questions with a laugh, seeing how intently he’s staring at her.

 

His lips twitch into a small smile as he lifts his hand, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. “I just think…” he pauses, contemplating whether or not he should ask her; they are married after all, but he doesn’t wish to pressure her into doing anything she’s not ready for. The last time he’d asked her a big question like this, they’d eloped after only a month and a half of dating each other. “I don’t know about you, but I think it’s safe to say we need to hire a real interior decorator.” Killian braces himself, mentally preparing for her reaction.

 

To his surprise, her eyes soften and her mouth falls slightly open, a hint of a smile threatening her lips. “Are you asking me to move in?” There’s a spark of hope in her eyes, so he already knows what her answer will be before he even asks the question.

 

“Love if you’re opposed to the idea—”

 

Emma presses the pad of her finger over his lips to stop him from speaking. She leans in, removing her hand, and lures him into a kiss, her disheveled, golden tresses falling in waves and cascading around them.

 

Before he can even respond, one of her hands are buried in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other is carding through his chest hair, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She tastes like coffee and creamer, warm and sweet, and he responds with a groan. She eagerly swallows the sounds he makes as his arms snake around her back to pull her closer, deepening the kiss.

 

When Emma breaks the kiss, but doesn’t put any distance between them so they’re still breathing the same air, he’s wearing a boyish grin on his face, his breathing labored as she licks her lips. “I think you’re right… we definitely need a new interior decorator.”

 

Relief floods his body, along with something else entirely as his little vixen grinds into him and buries her face in the crook of his neck. Dragging her mouth across his skin, she leaves a blazing path of delicious kisses and love bites in her wake.

 

Killian tries to focus on the conversation, but his mind begins to fog up, and he can feel his body responding to the friction, her wicked lips, her warm tongue and gentle teeth, his length hardening in his pajama pants. “But it doesn’t have to be in Palm Beach…” his shattered words drift off as she reaches between them, sneaking her hand under his pants and grasping onto his stiff erection. “We can live—” a guttural groan tears from his throat, cutting his words off once again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as she starts stroking him in her delicate, soothing fingers. He has to gather every ounce of strength within him to finish his train of thought, “—anywhere you want.” With this sort of treatment, Killian almost thinks she has somewhere in particular in mind and is trying to use her old tactics to get what she wants.

 

But as she leaves a trail of warm kisses up his jaw, her lips making their way to his ear, she assures him with a gentle whisper, “I’ll go anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”


	12. A Whole New Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ready for this story to end, but here it is, the last chapter. I really enjoyed writing this story and hope you've enjoyed it just as much. Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and for sticking with it! Best wishes and happy holidays to all of you!

**_~_ ** **_Rule #12: There are no rules, only us~_ **

“Killian Jones…” Emma’s voice hitches as she glances down at the notes she’d written and tries to hold back her tears, but she knows it’s a battle she may not be able to win. “I used to be a woman of little boundaries… or so I liked to think.” She peers up, her courage becoming a little stronger with every word she speaks. “It turns out I was fooling myself, because in reality, I built so many boundaries around my heart.” Her eyes wander off towards the guests, who are all seated in their chairs watching her intently and making her incredibly nervous. She quickly finds Milah in the front row sitting next to Gold, with their one year old son in her lap, and her anxiety dwindles a bit. “My sister and I both did.”

The brunette offers an encouraging smile, and Emma reverts her attention to her husband, who is gazing at her with those brilliant blue eyes she had fallen in love with years ago. “We refused to let anyone into our hearts, and I used to believe it was because of the kind of people we had become, but then I realized we were afraid of getting hurt, we were afraid of commitment and we were afraid of revealing ourselves—our _true_ selves to anyone. Because of those fears, my sister and I lived by certain rules to protect ourselves… or so we thought.” Emma offers a feeble smile, her eyes peeking down at her notes through the blurry vision created by the tears threatening to escape at any moment. “Because I lived by all of those rules, I ended up hurting many people.” A tear escapes, sliding down her cheek as she lifts her gaze, her eyes connecting with Killian’s once again.

He gently squeezes her other hand and offers an uplifting smile, giving her the strength to continue her vows.

“I regret many things in my life, but I will _never_ regret the first time we met on the driving range, when you taught me how to swing properly.” Her grin widens at those fond memories as she remembers how much he had affected her, even back then.

“Technically we met here inside the country club,” he teases playfully with a smirk, “and technically you already knew how to swing a golf club.”

Emma blushes, a bashful smile curving her lips. “You’re right on both counts,” she says with a shrug, “but can you really blame a girl for coming up with an excuse to get close to a man like you?”

Soft laughter from the guests fills the room as Killian’s ears turn red, matching his cheeks, an adorable smirk gracing his lips.

“My intentions may have not been pure at the time, but the more I got to know you, the more I wanted to reveal my true self to you—the more I wanted to be better—and not just for you…” Emma chokes out the words, her lips and fingers trembling as she tries to finish her sentence, “but for myself, too.” More tears start rolling down her cheeks as she takes another long, quivering breath. “You broke through all of my boundaries, you brought down my walls and I am forever grateful that I met you and that I let you into my heart. I’m proud to stand here today to renew our vows and continue to share our life together. I love you, Killian Jones, and I will continue to love you until my heart stops beating in my chest… until I take my final breath.”

Emma can see the tears falling from his eyes as he retrieves his note cards from his jacket pocket and sucks in a deep breath before beginning. “Emma Swan…” His voice trembles just a bit as he looks up at her, the intensity of his stare making her heart race. “I’ve always been a man who believes in good form, I’ve always lived by a code and I’ve always believed in helping out others who are in need. I have never thought of myself as a naive person, nor do I today. I don’t blame myself, or you or anyone else for how we became married so quickly. I saw a goodness in you, even when you didn’t see it in yourself. You were and still are an incredible woman, whether you chose to reveal it or not. I remember the first charity event I hosted for the Hope For Kids Foundation when I saw the way you interacted with the children, and I knew then your heart was pure. I also knew I was starting to fall for you.”

Emma beams, squeezing his hand, her heart fluttering at his words.

“That’s why it was so easy for me to let you in. That and because you are wickedly beautiful,” he comments playfully, and Emma’s face warms with the blush spreading across her cheeks. “You may have hidden your identity in the past, but it’s one more thing we have in common. I was also an orphan and I too had a tendency to hide. I hid behind my golf swing.” Killian pauses, peering down at the card in his hand, his voice cracking when he lifts his eyes again, which are still buzzing with the love he holds for her. “I masked all of my pain and emotions, and I bottled everything up inside. Instead of dealing with my feelings, I harnessed my love for the game, pouring everything I felt into my swing. Golf was once my true love, or so I thought,” Killian pauses, taking a long shaky breath, “but as much as I love the game, I know with certainty that you, Emma Swan-Jones, are my real true love.”

There are more tears from both the bride and groom, and they can hear the guests sniffling from their seats, their teary eyes locked on the couple in front of them.

With the notes tucked away into Killian’s jacket pocket, Smee hands them each a tissue, and the couple wipes one another’s tears and join hands.

Smee, who’d performed their wedding the first time around, recites the words he’s prepared, using his tablet as a reference. Emma and Killian take turns, repeating after him, each still wearing the rings they had exchanged on their original wedding day as they reclaim them as symbols of their love and commitment to one another.

“Killian Jones and Emma Swan-Jones, today you have renewed the vows you made to each other on the Jolly Roger. It is with great honor that I conclude this ceremony.” Smee smiles as he glances between them. “You may now celebrate this renewal of vows with a kiss.”

Like the first time, Killian pulls her into his embrace, dips her back and kisses her with everything he has. Like the first time, Emma’s heart speeds up and she responds with the same urgency, mirroring the affections he offers her, hanging on to him tightly and kissing him with the feelings and emotions she harbors for him. And she's wearing the same gorgeous dress she did the first time, even the same pair of shoes.

When Killian pulls her up again, she’s dizzy and discombobulated, everything spinning around her, but it’s a _good_ kind of dizzy—a really, really good kind.

Unlike the first time around, however, Emma doesn’t feel guilty or ashamed of herself, nor is her mind heavy with regret or any other sort of distress. With the conning days behind her, she feels like the happiest bride there ever was—even happier than she had ever dreamed she could be. Unlike the first time, there are wedding bells and hundreds of guests standing and applauding, there are cameras on them and a photographer snapping pictures. Unlike the first time, Mary Margaret approaches the married couple, transferring Hope Swan-Jones into her mother’s arms.

With a great big smile on her face, Emma looks down at her six month old daughter, eyes full of love and warmth. Their little princess is wearing a pink, frilly dress and a sun hat that covers her golden blonde curls. As her big, brilliant, blue eyes stare up at Emma, the adorable grin on her face is just as big and bubbly.

“And there’s my other true love,” Killian smiles at his daughter, a sparkle in his blue irises as he admires her, taking the infant’s little hand in his.

One by one, they greet their guests, and Emma transfers Hope to Killian’s arms so she can hug her sister, who congratulates them with a big grin on her face, genuinely happy for the three of them. Gold comes up behind her, and at first there's an awkward tension because the last time Emma had seen him… well she’s chosen to forget all about that. It’s certainly not a proud moment for her, so she’s chosen to shut it out completely and do everything she can to make up for her mistakes.

“Hello, Robert,” she addresses politely, shaking his hand while his other one is holding his cane.

“Hello, dearie. Neal wanted me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t make it. But truthfully I don’t think he is.”

Emma raises a brow. “Oh? How come?”

“Well, he won’t admit it, but if you ask me, he’s secretly in love with you.”

Emma is not looking at her husband directly, but she can tell he has a puzzled expression on his face.

“Who’s Neal again?” Killian asks.

“He’s my eldest son,” Gold answers.

“And you are?” Killian interrogates him, rocking his daughter gently in his hold as her chubby fingers grab onto his shirt.

“Oh, sorry honey, this is Robert Gold, Milah’s husband.”

With heavy reluctance and a steely glare, Killian extends his free hand to the older man while still cradling his daughter in his other arm. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you,” he mumbles in the politest tone he can muster.

Emma has shared with her husband many of the details of her past, she’s told him about how she and Milah began the con in the first place, how Milah had fallen in love with one of her marks, Robert Gold, and how the sisters switched roles after that (Killian was forever grateful they did). They both try not to think about what would've happened if Milah was the one who had to marry him, and if Emma was the one who had to seduce him and manipulate him into cheating. She likes to think Killian would’ve fallen for her charms, even while married to another woman, but she knows Killian is too good of a man to be unfaithful to his wife, whether that person is Emma Swan or someone else.

Milah loops her arm through Gold’s and they move along, making their way towards the exit doors with their son.

Killian leans in to whisper in Emma's ear, watching Gold walk away. “You really had to kiss… _him?”_ Emma cringes at the thought, and nods reluctantly, offering an apologetic smile as he adds, “And you kiss me with that mouth?”

She gives him a playful eye roll and leans into his space, whispering in his ear as the next set of guests approach. “Don’t worry, I brushed my teeth several times and used lots and lots of antibacterial mouthwash afterwards.”

Before Killian can respond, the Mills family is in front of them taking turns to get their hugs in, each of the men giving Killian a friendly pat on the back. Seeing Regina sparks another painful memory for Emma, but they’ve long made their peace after she and Killian had been reunited. Since then, Emma and Milah had decided to atone for everything they’ve done. They turned themselves in, paid their fines (out of their own pockets) and did their time. Regina even helped them keep the situation underwraps and away from the press, not wanting the public knowledge of their crimes to affect Killian’s reputation.

_“Emma, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I’m hoping we are past them. I know now that you love this man, so I hope you can forgive me for being nosy and suspicious and for threatening you,” Regina says with sincerity._

_“All is forgiven.” Emma extends her hand to Regina, offering a truce. “And honestly, I don’t resent you for it,” she confesses. “If I were you and I knew someone was doing the same thing to one of my friends, I would’ve done the same thing. Actually I probably would’ve went about it differently, but I don’t blame you, Regina. I’m the one who made the mistakes.”_

_“Well, that we can agree on,” Regina says with a smile, shaking Emma’s hand._

After that night at the country club, over another celebratory dinner, Emma and Regina had eventually become friends. Emma even helps out at the golf course every once in a while, and on Wednesdays, she brings the disadvantaged children she’s become so familiar with, over to play a few holes of golf. Luckily, she was still able to work with children with a criminal history.

“Congratulations to both of you,” Regina says sweetly, pulling Emma in for a hug.

“Thank you, Regina.”

Soon, Emma and Killian are moving on to the next guests, and she’s delighted to see Graham and Jefferson still happily married and with their adopted daughter, Grace, who’s now ten years old. Slowly, everyone filters out of the Queen Room, moving to the ballroom where Emma and Killian had their auction date, and where they had danced together for the first time when no one else was on the dancefloor.

Since the married couple didn’t have a reception the first time around, they plan on going all in this time, kicking off the celebration with lobster and filet mignon.

Heartwarming speeches are delivered by David and Milah as they both reminisce on the memories they’ve shared with the bride and groom over the years. They each retell stories of when they first met Killian and Emma respectively, how Milah and Emma became sisters, how David grew to think of his wife’s boss as a brother. Each of them profess how extremely grateful they are that Emma and Killian found one another, while also indulging in a few embarrassing tales along the way.

Emma and Killian dance to the first song as husband and wife with their baby daughter sandwiched in between them, before the guests join them on the dance floor. At one point, Killian pulls his wife away into one of the other rooms to make out like teenagers, but they are not the only ones sneaking off for a private moment. They run into a supposedly single Henry while he’s doting on a server from Royal Catering, who is supposed to be working in the ballroom. The couples blush and laugh, dashing off in different directions after Emma and Killian promise not to breathe a word to anyone of the encounter. Regina would lose her shit if she found out what her son was doing with one of the servers working in her country club.

Eventually, the reception comes to an end, but not without the guests sending the married couple off properly by blowing bubbles at them as they emerge from the country club.

The bride and groom make their way to their family car, Emma carrying their daughter as Killian wraps his arm around his wife. Little Hope is fascinated by the iridescent orbs floating through the air as she tries to touch them with her tiny fingers. Killian kisses his wife’s and daughter’s cheek as they happily reach the vehicle, waving goodbye to everyone.

With their daughter secured in the babyseat, Killian and Emma hop in beside her, leaving the Mills Ranch Golf Club in the rearview mirror as the driver pulls away.

It’s not much longer before they’re riding through the streets of Palm Beach when Killian asks her, “Where are we going, sweetheart?”

Emma’s smile is tainted with mischief, and she answers him only because he’s about to find out soon anyway. She grabs her bag she’d left in the car and slips her hand in the front pocket, pulling out three tickets and handing them over to him.

His eyes widen as he scans them over. “We’re going to London?”

She nods. “I hope that’s okay. I thought we could visit your hometown and that you could show us where you grew up.” She’s a bit nervous, initially unable to read his reaction. Their first honeymoon had been planned by him and catered to her preferences, so this time, it’s her turn to plan the honeymoon, catering to what she knows he will like.

Her worries quickly dissolve when a wide grin takes over his lips. “You couldn’t have picked a more perfect place. Thank you, love.”

“I’m glad, because I couldn't have picked a more perfect man to be my husband, who accepts me for who I was and who I’ve become. So really, I should be the one thanking you.”

His eyes flicker with love as he looks at her, the handsome features on his face soft and warm. “I love you, Emma, and I don’t care about your past. I care about you, our daughter and our future together.”

A smile graces her lips, relief washing over her as she leans in, meeting him halfway, their daughter bouncing in her carseat between them. “I know you do, Killian.” She moves in to kiss him, but he pulls back ever so slightly, lifting a curious brow.

“And how can you be so sure?”

With a wicked smirk, Emma grabs the collar of his partially unbuttoned dress shirt, pulling him back to her.

She still can’t believe she and Milah _both_ have what they’d sought after all those years ago—they married a rich man—but this time it's not under false pretenses, this time it's for good and this time it has nothing to do with money.

Emma doesn't care about her husband's net worth, she doesn't even want personal access to his cash and is completely content without it.

Much of his winnings from the PGA tour go towards the Hope For Kids Foundation, while the money Emma makes is for the orphanage she had recently opened up, called Emma's Home. The rest of the riches are for their family, the future of their daughter, and the wee one currently on the way, which is another surprise Emma has in store for Killian. She can’t wait to show him the onesie that reads in small letters _My Sister And I Are Proof Daddy Does Not Play Golf ALL The Time,_ once they reach London (she was afraid if she’d told him sooner, he wouldn’t want her to fly in a plane, even though she is only nine weeks pregnant and it's perfectly safe). They’re definitely going to need a bigger house now.

“Well, you haven't run away yet, now have you?”

Despite the money in Killian’s bank account, there is one thing he bears that’s much more valuable—the gold in his heart—and that's as pure and as rich as it gets.

Killian dazzles her with a smile, blue eyes piercing into her soul as his thumb idly strokes the apple of her cheek. “Run away from you, love?” He captures her lips with his, softly kissing his wife. They sigh pleasantly, savoring the taste of one another, and when they break the kiss, Killian rests his forehead on hers, a gentle whisper leaving his lips. “Not a chance.”


End file.
